


The Eagle's Nest

by HeartOfAspen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Ravenclaw Draco Malfoy, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-04-29 01:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 70
Words: 291,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfAspen/pseuds/HeartOfAspen
Summary: COMPLETE! Hermione's eighth year at Hogwarts is already going to be difficult in the aftermath of the war, but it is further thrown into upheaval when Headmistress McGonagall orders a re-sorting of all students to promote inter-house unity. But when the Sorting Hat sends Hermione to Ravenclaw with Draco - and without Harry or Ron - how will she cope? [AU, Dramione] Prevalent alchemy.





	1. The Sorting Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. This is an AU that popped into my head where the Golden Trio returns to Hogwarts for their eighth year and is unexpectedly re-sorted. While this is primarily an eighth-year fic, it is also a Dramione (with a few lemony bits sprinkled throughout) and features heavy focuses on alchemy. While I may have conducted hours upon hours of research into classical alchemy, there is also a fair bit I simply made up. Additionally, I took some liberties with Hogwarts castle itself, though I did consult HP Wikia whenever information was available.
> 
> Another thing you may want to know, is that this fic is what you would call a 'slow burn'. No, really, prepare yourself for that... it's one of the main complaints I get about this story.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Hermione was not sure what to expect from her eighth year as she, Harry, Ron, and Ginny trundled up the path to Hogwarts in one of the traditional carriages the school provided. She was overwhelmed with nostalgia as well as a very practical realization that this would be her last time being pulled up toward the castle in one of the spindly, thestral-drawn carriages with her best friends.

Harry and Ron had not wanted to come back to Hogwarts. The three of them had been offered jobs in the Auror office at the Ministry despite their lack of NEWT completion, but Hermione could feel that her future lay outside of chasing dark wizards for the rest of her life. She craved more of the innocence of her childhood… not the horrible, dark and disappointing reality that had become her life when Voldemort had risen…

But he had been gone for months now, never to return. Harry had defeated him in a battle that was sure to be spoken of for centuries. She cast a small smile at her friend, who returned the expression with fondness.

"Going to be an interesting year," Harry commented needlessly.

They all knew.

"I wonder how it'll be with McGonagall as Headmistress," Ginny mused absently. Her head was resting on Harry's shoulder possessively.

Following the final battle, the two had come together with the intensity of lightning ripping through the night sky. Their fierce devotion to one another was sometimes difficult to witness. Hermione uncomfortably thought how different it had been from her and Ron…

Without the threat of Voldemort looming in the distance, it seemed she and Ron were no longer compelled to be glued at the hip. They had drifted apart slowly, like the tide going out. Despite that such a thing had been perfectly obvious to both of them, it had only been on the previous day, right before the start of term, that they agreed to remain friends only. There were no hard feelings, nothing lost. Hermione's relief was palpable, even now.

As the carriage came to a stop in front of the castle, she felt excitement begin to bubble up within her.

"D'you suppose it's all fixed up?" Ron wondered, goggling at the castle, which looked much the same as it always had.

"Guess we'll find out soon enough," Ginny answered. She took Harry's hand in hers as the foursome walked up to the enormous front doors of the school with the other returning students.

"Look, there's Gryffindor Tower!" Hermione pointed, indicating the familiar structure protruding from the seventh floor in the distance. A warm light was glowing from the windows in welcome and she felt tears well up in her eyes. She had worried she would never be back.

"I hope there's a good spread," Ron groaned, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. He was unable to enjoy the sight of their beloved home as Hermione did. "I could eat the Sorting Hat I'm so hungry."

"Harry, look," Ginny said quietly, interrupting Ron's complaint. She nodded toward where some of the other students were still disembarking from the carriages. "Malfoy."

Their heads turned to where Ginny indicated and easily caught sight of a familiar head of platinum blond hair. Hands in his pockets, there was a definite hunch to Malfoy's shoulders. His fellow Slytherins, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, talked quietly by his side.

"Looks like Goyle decided not to come back this year," Ron remarked.

"Look – here's Neville and Luna!"

"Hey, Harry! Ron, Hermione, Ginny…" Neville greeted breathlessly, catching up to them.

"Hello, everyone," said Luna airily. "I'm looking forward to a good sorting. Aren't you?"

"Feels weird, doesn't it? Coming back?" Neville ruminated as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Well, we've got to finish our education somehow," Hermione replied, her calm voice not betraying the excitement she really felt. "They're not really counting last year, for anyone."

"It'll be interesting to see how the different houses interact now that the war is over," Luna commented.

"As long as there's treacle tart, I couldn't care less," Ron groaned, clutching his stomach.

The friends laughed as they entered the familiar Great Hall, five of them filing over to the Gryffindor table, while Luna made herself comfortable at the Ravenclaw one. They rekindled old friendships; Ron and Hermione were particularly popular, but everywhere Harry went, genuine applause erupted.

Once the hall was settled, the newly appointed Headmistress McGonagall got to her feet and stood at the center podium. With her reputation for being severe, but fair, the hall soon became quiet without McGonagall even murmuring a word.

"It is with unaffected pleasure that I welcome you all back to Hogwarts this year," she began. Her usual stern expression was colored with a smile that twitched at the corners of her lips. "You will find a great many changes in place. Professors Slughorn, Flitwick, and Sprout will continue as Heads of Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff houses respectively, while Professor Sinistra will be taking over as Head of Gryffindor in my stead."

Polite applause greeted this statement. Many of the younger students remained silent, looking grim rather than excited at the start of term. Hermione noticed many of them searching the Great Hall as if they were taking in all possible means of escaping an imminent attacker. Considering the horrific events of the previous year, she could not really blame them. The Slytherin table was all but silent, and those seated there kept their heads down.

It looked like it would be an interesting year, for sure.

"Due to many factors," the Headmistress continued, "class schedules have not been prepared as of yet. This year, the school board has opted to expand the curriculum. Tomorrow morning, the heads from each House will meet with their students in their respective common rooms to review offered classes and the eligibility requirements."

Hermione sat up straighter, excitement coursing through her at the prospect of new classes being offered. Ginny elbowed her, shaking her head at the show of enthusiasm, but Hermione was unswayed.

"...In addition to the classes available previously, Xylomancy and Alchemy will be offered to NEWT level students."

Hermione quickly dismissed Xylomancy as glorified Divination, but Alchemy? Hogwarts, A History had indicated that alchemical studies had not been offered in nearly seventy years. She had never hoped to be able to study it in a school environment, assuming it would be up to her to pursue on her own time. She became so lost in the possibilities of what she could learn on the subject - even in a single year of a structured environment - that she almost missed what McGonagall decreed next.

"Another reason your schedules have not been finalized is due to the need to wait until after tonight's sorting ceremony. The staff and the board have agreed that, in light of recent events… it would be in Hogwarts' best interests to conduct a school-wide resorting."

The hall erupted with cries of alarm, which swiftly built into a true cacophony that could not be abated for several minutes.

Hermione glanced around at her friends, all of whom bore identical horrified expressions: they were Gryffindor through and through!

"Attention!" McGonagall barked.

The hall, while still alive with furious whispers like hissing snakes, mainly quieted and turned its attention back to the Headmistress with new looks of contempt. Hermione's hands, which had been resting on her thighs, tightened and her fingernails began to dig into her skin, but she did not notice.

"If you will please all form a queue…"

This was far easier said than done, even without the first years, who were still battling their way across the Black Lake in rowboats with Hagrid. The second and third years seemed to accept their fate readily enough and stood with silent, watchful eyes to see what would happen to them. The fourth and fifth years grumbled, some muttering curses while others openly wept at the idea of being separated from their friends.

Everyone in sixth year and above seemed mutinous. They'd had years to cultivate their personalities based around their houses…

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Hermione breathed nervously.

"Hermione, calm down," Harry admonished pleadingly.

"It's going to be forever to finish this," Ron complained, "we'll never get to eat!"

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione scolded waspishly, "all you ever think about is food!"

"Relax, Hermione…" he tried.

"What if we're separated?" she hissed back.

Harry looked glum. "The hat gives you a choice. It did for me…"

"I'm not sure that's going to work for everyone, Harry…"

"We're all Gryffindors, though," Ron reminded her obtusely, clearly convinced he would still be sleeping in Gryffindor Tower that night.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

This is going to take a long time, Hermione realized as Hannah Abbott - a blonde Hufflepuff from their year - struggled to exit the line of about three hundred students.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the Sorting Hat.

The hat was plucked from Hannah's head and she stood awkwardly before the four empty tables before slowly making her way to the farthest one. There, she buried her face in her hands and slumped down on the bench. There were no existing Gryffindors to cheer her being placed there, and the silence seemed weirdly foreboding.

The ceremony seemed to go on forever, especially with the addition of the eighth years, of whom nearly three-quarters had returned to properly sit for their NEWTs.

"Finnegan, Seamus!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"I am going to have a panic attack," Hermione admitted under her breath to Ginny, who squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Don't," she advised sagely. "It'll be over soon."

Hermione noted the subdued Slytherins watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes. Malfoy was glaring at the floor, grinding his teeth. Pansy Parkinson was eyeing the Sorting Hat with open hostility.

"Granger, Hermione!"

"Oh no, oh no… oh no," Hermione muttered a little madly as she stumbled from the slowly dwindling line that stretched out of the Great Hall and into the corridor.

"You'll do great, 'Mione," Ron reassured her.

She sat down on the stool, feeling like a foolish first year all over again as the cloth of the Sorting Hat covered her head. It did not quite slip over her eyes like it had when she was eleven however, and that was something, she supposed.

The hat chuckled into her ear, "Ah, yes, Miss Granger. I remember you. You were quite the hatstall eight years ago."

Hermione remembered, too. Hatstalls – when the hat took five minutes or longer to sort a student – were fairly uncommon. Seven years ago, she had given the hat an extremely difficult time, privately arguing with it as it decided between placing her in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

It continued, "You do make a shining example of a Gryffindor… but I can also see you're exhausted of being the hero... and after the year you've just had, who can blame you? No matter. This time, it had better be… RAVENCLAW!"

As the hat announced its decision to the entire hall, Hermione released the deep breath she had been holding, feeling relieved even as her heart simultaneously sank. She barely registered the half-hearted applause from the long benches of the Ravenclaw table as she went to sit there.

Her red-and-gold tie transfigured itself into blue-and-bronze and that somehow made it all seem quite permanent. Still, she felt she could probably thrive as a Ravenclaw… but she already missed her friends. There was no way they were all going to end up together if this was her fate.

There was a knot on the wooden table in front of her, where she would now be expected to take her meals; it was distinctive one, worn-down and smooth with age, but long and stretched. Reaching her fingers out to touch it, she recalled that there had been no such distinctive marking on the Gryffindor table.

It took a few moments for her to look up, but when she did, she saw Ron, Harry, and Ginny giving her the thumbs-up. She shot them a half-smile and felt a flicker of resolve: really, of all the other houses, Ravenclaw was not too bad.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione felt a surge of envy toward Neville, who grinned widely as he removed the hat from his head and practically swaggered over to the Gryffindor table, brimming with confidence. Only a few people had so far been re-sorted back into their original houses. Hermione wondered what made Neville so much more Gryffindor than her. If she remembered correctly, he had been a hatstall like herself… in fact, she was sure she remembered Neville telling her he had argued with the Sorting Hat for over five minutes before being sent to Gryffindor. He had requested to be sorted into Hufflepuff, but the hat had won in the end.

"Lovegood, Luna!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione's heart fluttered with yearning once more. She did not mind Ravenclaw, really, but she loved Gryffindor. There was a lion in her heart.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Looking up with interest, Hermione wondered where the hat would deign to place the former Death Eater. He was so very Slytherin, she could not imagine him being placed anywhere but there…

"RAVENCLAW!"

"No!" Ginny gasped audibly, her hand flying to cover her mouth in shock. Ron shot Hermione a fearful glance. Harry merely raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Hermione's gut wrenched as she realized she was going to be sharing a common room with Draco Malfoy… the boy who had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts… the boy whose aunt had tortured her mere months ago while he had watched…

The Great Hall was utterly silent as Malfoy sauntered over to the Ravenclaw table, the green-and-silver of his uniform tie switching to blue-and-bronze. As he sunk onto the end of the long bench, he glowered at the wooden table, mouth twisted into a grimace.

"Parkinson, Pansy!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Pansy burst into tears and slammed down into her seat at the Hufflepuff table, making a scene.

"Potter, Harry!"

Hermione craned her neck to watch as her best friend was re-sorted. The tables had become much fuller now that they were more than halfway through McGonagall's list.

Harry smiled at Ginny reassuringly, having accepted whatever his fate would be. Hermione supposed that after facing Voldemort, the Sorting Hat could not possibly be too frightening…

"SLYTHERIN!"

Gasps and whispers resonated throughout the hall; Harry, alone, did not seem surprised by the hat's choice. He stood from the stool and made his way toward the Slytherin table as if it were the most normal thing in the world, taking a seat across from a relieved Susan Bones and an intrigued Michael Corner. Both students had been in Dumbledore's Army with Harry, and had also been sorted into Slytherin; they had been a Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively, before.

Hermione felt lightheaded. Everything seemed wrong. She was separated from Harry and – almost certainly – from Ron as well. She had completely lost her appetite.

Finally, the list was petering to the end…

"Weasley, Ginevra!" was called and Hermione looked up with hope. Ginny was quick-witted and talented. Perhaps…

"SLYTHERIN!"

Her heart sank, even as Ginny grinned broadly and rushed toward the Slytherin table with far too much glee than it was comfortable for a Gryffindor to be exhibiting. She scrambled into a space beside Harry, who kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

Hermione did not even get her hopes up.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"What?" Ron spluttered. It was almost comic, but Hermione could not laugh.

"Zabini, Blaise!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Hermione glanced sadly around the long Ravenclaw benches. There were very few faces there she was familiar with except Malfoy and Zabini, who were sitting closely to one another and muttering in whispered voices as they glanced around the table.

For a split second, Hermione's eyes met Malfoy's and they shared a glance. There was no open hostility there, but there was certainly no kindness in those grey orbs either.

The lion began to pace restlessly in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to I_was_BOTWP for beta work!


	2. Ravenclaw Prefects

Allowing her consciousness to slide back into focus, Hermione's eyes opened blearily and she blinked a few times. She sighed happily into the fluffy Hogwarts pillow, warm and comfortable. She was home.

Memory popped her mood like a balloon as the events of the previous night resurfaced.

As always when she began to panic, reviewing the facts made reality less painful.

It was Wednesday, September 2, 1998 and her final year at Hogwarts had officially begun the previous evening. In her heart, she was a Gryffindor... but in this new arrangement, she was a Ravenclaw.

That was the part that made her the most nervous. She did not know _how_ to be a Ravenclaw. She was programmed to trundle up seven flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower and give the familiar Fat Lady, dressed in a horrible pink silk dress, a password. Then she knew to go through the round hole behind the portrait into the welcoming and warm common room, where she would ascend the girls' staircase and flop onto her four-poster bed with red-and-gold hangings. The view would be of the expansive Hogwarts grounds, including Hagrid's hut, where curling smoke from the chimney would be reassuringly the same it always had been.

Instead, she now would wend her way to the west wing of the fifth floor, where a spiral staircase climbed the interior of a tall castle spire. The windows here were tall, some made of stained glass and others offering a view of the castle's central courtyard. The entrance was comprised of an oak door, with a bronze door-knocker in the shape of an eagle's head that functioned as guardian.

Located in the eighth year girls' dormitory in one of the turrets off the main tower, Hermione's new bed was just as comfortable as the Gryffindor ones had always been. They were reassuringly similar in that they were also four-posters, but the hangings were the color of the sky and made of silk.

"Hermione?" a vaguely familiar voice queried.

She pulled the curtains back from her bed with some reluctance, revealing Padma Patil waiting for her. Padma was one of the few people from Hermione's year who found herself still in her original House. For a moment, Hermione could pretend that she was her twin sister Parvati, and that this was really no different from Gryffindor after all.

"Good morning," Hermione replied pleasantly enough.

"Good morning," Padma echoed back. "The eighth years have all been called into the common room by Professor Flitwick to give us our schedules and make sure we're comfortable."

"Oh."

Hermione glanced around the dormitory, where there were beds for five girls, including herself, but she was the only Gryffindor.

"I'm Lisa Turpin," one of the girls Hermione vaguely recognized introduced herself. She had short brown hair, cropped severely under her chin, and a delicate heart-shaped face. "Hufflepuff – or I _was_."

"Sue Li," another of the girls spoke up. She was a tiny Asian girl who could not have been more than five feet tall. She was pulling her long, jet black hair into a comfortable ponytail. "Ravenclaw."

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione began.

"We know who you are," Lisa informed her.

"You're famous," Sue agreed.

"Oh."

The four girls shared a tentatively companionable silence. Hermione glanced toward the fifth bed, which was already empty.

Noticing the draw of her gaze, Padma explained, "That Slytherin girl, Daphne Greengrass, also got sorted here. She got up early and left. I think she's already downstairs."

"I see," Hermione answered. Perhaps Daphne Greengrass was feeling uncomfortable at being the only Slytherin girl. Padma and Sue were probably quite close already, having shared the Ravenclaw dormitory for seven years together.

"This year is going to be weird," Lisa sighed.

Hermione did not audibly agree, but she felt the heavy truth of that statement. She threw her clothes on, including her blue-and-bronze uniform tie, and headed down the stairs into the Ravenclaw common room with the other three girls.

Ancient Professor Flitwick was waiting for them there, so tiny he had to stand on a stool at the head of the room to be seen. Hermione glanced around the room at the other assembled eighth years.

The aforementioned Daphne Greengrass was seated a little ways away with Malfoy and Zabini, the three of them wearing identical expressions of haughtiness as they took in their surroundings. Another boy Hermione did not know was chatting with Ernie Macmillan.

"Hermione," Ernie greeted cordially, his enormous ears sticking out more than ever, "I _knew_ you'd be in Ravenclaw. It's odd to be giving up Hufflepuff after all these years... but the things we do in the name of unity, eh?"

Ernie had always been rather pompous but Hermione liked him. She noticed a shiny Head Boy badge pinned to the front of his robes. Offering him a smile and some vague words of agreement, Ernie quickly deduced she was in no mood for conversation, and moved on to speak with the only other former-Hufflepuff, Lisa.

Glancing about, Hermione was able to take in the sight of the common room in daylight for the first time. It was large and airy, almost cavernous thanks to the vaulted ceiling, which was painted with stars like the night sky. The space was wide and circular with tall, many-paned windows draped with blue and bronze silk curtains. The view of the grounds was unparalleled: the Black Lake sparkled distantly in the sunlight, and the herbology gardens, Quidditch pitch, and Forbidden Forest were dwarfed only by the outlying Scottish mountains.

The room was positively covered in bookcases, which stretched up every inch of the walls and also interspersed themselves throughout the room. Tables and chairs were arranged in small groups throughout. Hermione compared the room to the library, noting small touches such as the plush midnight blue carpeting that gave the area a warmer feeling.

The two Hufflepuffs and the group of Slytherins also seemed to be taking in their new quarters. Padma and Sue engaged the boy Hermione did not recognize in conversation and she deduced he must also be a returning Ravenclaw.

She was the only Gryffindor, she noticed.

"Welcome back, eighth years," squeaked Professor Flitwick. "This will be a transition year for you all, not merely because of the re-sorting but because you're returning to finish an education that, under usual circumstances, would have already been completed."

Daphne dipped her head toward Zabini and Malfoy to mutter something inaudible. The two boys' expressions did not change but Malfoy's gaze floated lazily toward Hermione, who was determined not to pay the Slytherins any attention.

"Ravenclaw has always acquitted itself well amongst themselves and other Houses," Flitwick continued. "I hope that will not change. Having taught you all for seven years, I am very aware that each of you was sent here by the Sorting Hat because you are all intelligent, clever individuals."

Silence reigned amongst the eighth years. Ernie alone looked pleased, the rest looked tense.

"As the Headmistress announced last night," Flitwick went on, "alchemical studies are being offered this year, to qualifying NEWT students… that's Miss Li, Mr. Rivers, Miss Granger, Mr. Macmillan, and Mr. Malfoy. The five of you have all achieved the necessary OWLs to study alchemy this year, should you wish. Do any of you have any interest?"

All five responded with nods and murmured assents.

"Excellent," their Head of House hummed to himself, updating their schedules with a flick of his wand.

Once Flitwick had finished reviewing everyone's classes - Hermione tuned him out at the very mention of Xylomancy - she examined the schedule she was handed, noticing that all their classes were mixed with at least one other House. She felt a creeping sense of relief at knowing she would not be alone. Because of the small number of eighth years, and also being reduced in number because of the advanced NEWT level, all of her classes except Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms were comprised of all four Houses.

Transfiguration was with the Slytherins, Defense was with the Hufflepuffs, and Charms was with the Gryffindors. That meant she would have Harry, Ron, and Neville respectively, for each of the subjects. The rest of her classes must have small numbers, because they were combined.

With her class schedule decided, she began to wonder how the others had done in their new arrangements overnight.

The four Ravenclaw girls headed down the spiral staircase toward the Great Hall for breakfast. Daphne Greengrass had separated herself off from them again, preferring to walk with Malfoy and Zabini.

As they descended, Lisa leaned in toward her companions and conspiratorially whispered, "Does anyone else think it's weird that we got the former Death Eater in our House?"

Hermione glanced at the back of the platinum blond head that was walking several paces ahead of them but said nothing. Her mind flashed to an unbidden memory of the night at Malfoy Manor when she had been tortured by Bellatrix. She managed to successfully push the thought away, but the inside of her arm itched where the scar was still branded. Instinctively, she pulled her sleeve down.

"He was second in our year from first through fifth years," Sue answered by way of explanation. "I know because I tried to beat him, but couldn't and ended up third."

"He was?" Lisa gasped. "He must be smart, but I had no idea. Who's first then?"

Padma grinned and jerked her head toward Hermione.

"Oh, right."

Hermione smiled, despite herself.

"Hermione!" Ginny called from across the Great Hall the moment they stepped through the doors. She gestured to a seat next to herself and Harry at the Slytherin table.

"I can't sit with you, Ginny," Hermione reminded her friend as she approached. "We were re-sorted, remember?"

"Oh, no one cares about that," Ginny snapped. "See?"

Luna was seated opposite her. Hermione glanced at the teachers' table, but there did not seem to be any resistance from that end, so she sat. Harry joined them moments later.

"How was your night in the eagle's nest?" Ginny queried conversationally.

"Nice enough," answered Hermione, helping herself to some toast.

"I do like your Gryffindor Tower," Luna remarked dreamily. "It's cozy."

Hermione felt a pang of jealousy, but ruthlessly shoved it away.

"The Slytherin dungeons are so _dreary_ ," Ginny complained emphatically. "Honestly, who uses _skulls_ as decoration? So medieval…"

"Ron seems pleased enough in Hufflepuff," Luna observed.

Ron was seated alongside Seamus Finnegan, who also sported a yellow-and-black tie, and the boys were currently participating in an animated discussion that seemed to involve broomsticks. Hermione experienced another stab of jealousy: Ron had Seamus, while Harry had Ginny to help them adapt to their new Houses, but she had no one…

"The Slytherin commons have an underground view of the lake through the windows," Ginny went on. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw the giant squid last night…"

"There are mermaids sometimes, too," a drawling voice interrupted them.

Hermione and Ginny whipped around to come face-to-face with Draco Malfoy. From across the table, Harry queried, "Can we help you, Malfoy?"

In a much more hostile tone of voice, Ginny added, "Spit it out, ferret, then get lost."

Frowning deeply, Malfoy's jaw had clenched like it actually hurt to bite back whatever comment he wanted to throw at Ginny in return. To everyone's surprise, he turned to Hermione, "McGonagall wants to see us."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Us?"

He looked almost bored, his pale, pointed face betraying nothing. "Us… as in, me and you, to go see McGonagall. Now."

"I'll see you in a bit," Hermione bid goodbye to Harry, Ginny, and Luna before any of them could protest. She took a piece of toast with her and followed her new housemate to the head table, where McGonagall had assembled a small group of eighth year students before her.

"The re-sorting did not dictate my choice of Head Boy and Girl, but I had to wait until last night to finalize my choices for prefects," McGonagall told the group. "That being said, I was hoping for the eight of you to take on those responsibilities for your new Houses."

Hermione glanced around the small cluster of her peers. Hannah Abbott and Anthony Goldstein were representing Gryffindor, while Justin Finch-Fletchley and Mandy Brocklehurst represented Hufflepuff, and Susan Bones and Dean Thomas had Slytherin.

She knew what that meant: she would be expected to patrol with Malfoy.

_Wonderful._

McGonagall bestowed them all with some prefect badges and patrol schedules. The rotation indicated that Hermione and Draco would be responsible for patrolling the corridors on Monday and Thursday evenings.

She vaguely wondered why McGonagall had made Malfoy a prefect at all. It was not like he had a spotless record. But then, she supposed, neither did she. Still, it had not been _her_ that let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts…

"As decided before the start of term," the Headmistress continued, "Ernie Macmillan and Padma Patil will be acting as Head Boy and Girl for all of first term, and will retire their titles after the Christmas holidays. Splitting the year for our chosen Heads will allow for representation from the seventh years for the remainder of the school year. I'm sure Mr. Macmillan and Miss Patil will want to call a prefects' meeting before long, so be prepared."

After answering a few questions, McGonagall dismissed them to call up her chosen prefects from seventh year, likely to impart the same information.

"Well, Malfoy, looks like we're stuck on patrol together," Hermione said quietly to the former-Slytherin. If she was going to be working closely with him all year, she had decided it would be prudent not to be completely standoffish.

He shot her an inscrutable look and stalked off without responding. Hermione sighed and returned to the Slytherin table, where Ron had joined the group.

"The Hufflepuff dorms are right next to the kitchens, 'Mione!" Ron told her excitedly. "And there's no password. You just waltz right in… and if I fancy a midnight snack, I can just leave and go next-door to get one. The house elves are very obliging…"

"You are going to be as big as a hippogriff by the end of the year," Hermione retorted, amused despite herself.

"So what did Malfoy want?" Ginny wanted to know.

"He and I were made Ravenclaw prefects."

"Who in their right mind would make _Malfoy_ a prefect after all the things he's done?" Ginny demanded angrily.

"Maybe it's _because_ of everything he's done that he was made a prefect," Luna pointed out contemplatively.

"What do you mean?" Harry wondered, brow furrowed.

"Perhaps it's his chance at redemption," Luna replied matter-of-factly, turning back to her porridge.

"Well, redemption or not, you have to ask McGonagall to switch you," Ron insisted seriously. "You can't go wandering around the corridors at night with ferret-face waiting to hex you behind your back..."

"No," Hermione said firmly.

"What do you mean 'no'...?"

"I mean 'no' in the way that 'no' is generally accepted to be meant, Ronald," she retorted, rising from her seat and slinging her book-bag over her shoulder. "I'm not afraid of Malfoy - especially not after everything we went through last year. I can handle myself." She turned to her other best friend, with whom she had Transfiguration first. "I'll see you in class, Harry."

A pair of gray eyes watched her studiously from the Ravenclaw table as she swept from the hall, book-bag overflowing and curls bouncing behind her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a number of people mention that it would be strange, given their small class size, to have Hermione need to be introduced to anyone she's spent seven years already knowing. While I agree, I have opted not to make changes at this time in order to help out you, the reader. There are a fair few 'new' side characters throughout this fic so you'll simply have to bear with me.
> 
> Thank you to I_was_BOTWP for beta work!


	3. First Day Back

Classes began uneventfully and Hermione felt relief settle into her stomach. Here she was, sitting next to Harry in class like there had not been any war or any re-sorting. The only difference was that their uniform ties were different colors. This was _normal_.

The new Transfiguration instructor was a thickset, red-faced Scotsman named Professor Buchanan. While his brogue was present, it was not too heavy; he had meaty hands that he gestured wildly with, and he liked to laugh. This was a change from McGonagall to be sure, but the new professor seemed amiable enough.

They quickly jumped right into the subject matter, beginning with transforming chickens into cats. Since they had only transformed animals into inanimate objects before (or vice versa), Hermione found this refreshingly challenging.

"How are you getting this so quickly?" Harry demanded. His chicken meowed at him reproachfully.

"You have to concentrate," she whispered.

Harry rolled his eyes, his face screwed up into a grimace, "I _am_ concentrating."

_Yes_ , Hermione thought to herself smugly, _this is normal._

Herbology went much the same. She and Harry joined Ron to walk down to the greenhouses together, the three of them partnering around the same cluster of shrivelfigs.

"Hermione," Ron said in mock-seriousness, "how am I going to pass my NEWTs without you?"

"I'm not going to help you 'find the words' for your essays this year, Ronald."

He grinned at her, somehow managing to look pleadingly forlorn at the same time. "You always say that..."

.

.

Later that evening, Hermione hesitated outside a familiar pair of doors. Dinner was being served in the Great Hall, and though she was hungry after her first day of classes, there was something she had to make sure of first…

Releasing her held breath, she pulled the door-handle and stepped into the Hogwarts Library. Before her stood her old friends, seemingly the only things in the castle untouched from the Battle of Hogwarts the previous May. Tall, narrow columns of books rose to the ceiling, extraordinary vestiges of knowledge and theory, just waiting to be combed through…

She glanced furtively around. Besides Madam Pince and two fourth-year Slytherins with their heads together at a back table, no one else was there. Not many came into the library on their first day back in classes - especially not during dinner - but Hermione Granger did.

Convinced that no one would see, she breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of books. Parchment, brain-power, old ink…

"That is both disturbing _and_ somewhat arousing, Granger..."

Hermione whirled around and came face-to-face with Theodore Nott. As she had little knowledge of the former-Slytherin except that his father had been a Death Eater, she was immediately on her guard.

"Theo Nott," he introduced, extending his hand toward her. The wizard was tall and thin and seemed to lean a bit like an unstable tower. His fair hair was shorn close to his head, and he had green eyes that were mostly hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses. Hermione noticed he was no longer sporting a green-and-silver tie, but rather a red-and-gold one.

She eyed the extended hand suspiciously. "Why are you introducing yourself to me?"

"I believe it's called 'manners'," he replied impishly. "But I'm beginning to discover that Gryffindors don't really care much for those."

She drew herself up defiantly, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Gryffindors have never been anything but nice to me."

"Perhaps _you_ belonged there... unlike a snake in the lion's den."

Her mouth clamped shut. She could not deny she hated the idea of a Death Eater's son sleeping in Gryffindor Tower, despite suspecting the re-sorting had been intended to promote inter-house unity.

Theo eyed her carefully, "I can only assume you feel just as out-of-place in Ravenclaw. I'm shocked McGonagall condoned the splitting-up of the Golden Trio."

_He's trying to goad a reaction out of me_ , she recognized. Smiling with mock-sweetness, she answered, "Just spreading the wealth around, Nott."

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully, "I suppose that's why they had to put both me and Longbottom in Gryffindor… too much of a good thing and all that."

"Neville is twice the wizard you are," she told him confidently. _Really! How anyone can continue to make fun of Neville after he publicly beheaded Nagini in the school courtyard last May, is beyond me…_

Amused, he only cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her and queried, "Really?"

"Bloody Slytherin," she muttered under her breath.

"How can someone so swotty be so fantastically ignorant?" he posited with a long-suffering sigh. Hermione stuck her nose in the air and made to march away from him, but before she could, he inferred, "I suppose you expected me to approach you and immediately start calling you a 'Mudblood'?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your language, Nott," she spat fiercely, and stalked off.

He called after her, "There's a private corner over yonder, Granger… so you can jill off to the books in peace!"

.

.

"I am having an identity crisis," Hermione announced, taking a seat at one of the Hufflepuff benches where Ron, Seamus, Harry, and Ginny were already halfway through dinner.

"Already?" Ginny queried.

"Why?" Ron asked, more companionably.

"I just took house points from Gryffindor and I wasn't in the least bit remorseful."

Harry and Ginny laughed at her discomfort, while Ron gaped at her.

"Can prefects take house points now?" Seamus wondered.

"Seventh and eighth years can."

"Do you know what's even worse?" Ginny argued. "I have to _try out_ to be on the Slytherin Quidditch team. They'd be _lucky_ to have me!"

"Me too," Harry reminded her, "and I was Captain of Gryffindor."

"I got called a 'Puff Poof' by a fifth year," Seamus complained miserably. "Why do Huffs get so much shite?"

"At least none of you have to do prefect patrol with Malfoy twice a week," Hermione hissed.

They all looked expectantly at Ron.

"What?" he stuttered between heaps of the mashed potatoes he was shoveling into his mouth. "I'm perfectly happy in Hufflepuff. Although we do have Parkinson... but so far, everyone mostly just takes the mickey out of her and that's always good fun."

.

.

Hermione met Malfoy outside Ravenclaw Tower that evening. As Head Boy, Ernie was also there to give instruction as to where they were to patrol. The Gryffindor prefects would be scouring the upper floors, while they were to have the lower, including the dungeons.

"Padma and I have decided to have a meeting with all the prefects tomorrow night, before any of the school clubs start up again," Ernie informed the sullen pair. "Ancient Runes classroom on the sixth floor, seven o'clock sharp."

Having said his piece, Ernie turned back to re-enter Ravenclaw Tower. The guardian prompted, "I go through towns and over hills, and yet I never move."

"Er," Ernie answered unsurely. The bronze eagle head in the center of the door remained silent.

Anyone entering the common room had to answer a riddle, which was different every time. Hermione had not had any trouble with hers so far. Ernie, on the other hand…

She supplied the answer for him. "A road."

"Too right," the eagle head answered. The door swung inward.

"Thanks," Ernie said, possibly embarrassed that he had not known the answer, as he did not meet her eye and quickly disappeared within.

Malfoy sneered at the spot where the Head Boy had stood moments before. "That was an easy one. Idiot should have known the answer."

Not wanting to start a confrontation with him at the very beginning of their patrol – and because she secretly agreed that it _had_ been an easy question – Hermione said nothing. They descended the spiral staircase in silence.

Spilling out onto the fifth floor corridor, Malfoy already sounded bored when he drawled, "Where do you want to start?"

"I've never done the lower patrol before," she shrugged. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff prefects had always taken the upper floors of the castle; Ravenclaws and Slytherins had typically done the lower.

"This way then," Malfoy decided for them, jaunting off toward the center of the castle and down another staircase.

Hermione did not really expect foul play from Draco, but she kept her eyes open nonetheless. If he hexed her, it would be fairly obvious that it had been him. At the same time, she could not help thinking there might be some validity in Luna's earlier suggestion, that perhaps Malfoy had been made a prefect so he could have a chance at redemption. His family's extremist pro-pureblood loyalties during the war was common knowledge… surely he would not choose to break the offered olive branch…

Breaking their silence, he insisted, "I am going to go _mad_ if we have to spend two hours without saying anything."

It was his usual insolent tone, but Hermione found some small hope in the subject of his words. She politely queried, "What would you like to talk about?"

"I don't care. Anything. Do you have a Quidditch team?"

"I don't really care for Quidditch, sorry."

"Of course you don't," he sneered. "Too much time with your face in a book, no doubt."

"If you're just going to insult me…"

"We _can_ do that, if you prefer. It would probably pass the time faster," he drawled. "You first. Throw me your best."

Hermione shot her companion a scathing look and clamped her mouth shut, thinking his best punishment would be for her to not say a word.

Malfoy jibed, "Cat got your tongue, Granger?"

She refused to speak, instead listening in calm silence as he attempted to goad her into responding to light insults or disparaging witticisms for the next several moments. Eventually, she tuned him out entirely, deciding she was already near to going mad, herself.

Roundly ignoring her companion, Hermione turned a corner into a passageway she did not recognize. She glanced around, taking in the hanging tapestries depicting unfamiliar scenes along with the Baroque-era suits of armor, and realized she did not have the slightest idea where she was. Forgetting she wasn't speaking to Malfoy, she voiced, "Where are we?"

"Ha!" he exclaimed in triumph.

She rolled her eyes. "You are _twelve_. Seriously, Malfoy, where are we?"

"A few passages away from the Slytherin dormitories," he answered, still smirking in victory.

"Are there classrooms down here? Why have I never been here before?" she wondered. The feel of the air made it seem they were almost underground. Perhaps they were.

"As far as I know it's just the Slytherin commons, dungeons, and the caves."

Hermione rounded on him, eyes flashing, and repeated, " _Caves_?"

Malfoy's mouth spread from a smirk to a grin and Hermione inwardly shuddered. She had not thought the former-Slytherin could _do_ something like grin - but the truth of the matter was, _that_ look on his face was terrifying. Whatever pleased Malfoy that much could not possibly be anything good…

"Scared of the underground passages, Granger?" he sneered.

"Certainly not," she protested, squaring her shoulders. "Is it part of the rotation?"

"Yes, considering there's usually at least one couple of horny teenagers snogging down there," he began. Then added, "Or worse."

"Oh, _eugh_ ," she blurted.

"Poor Saint Granger," he jeered. "Don't worry, I will protect your virgin eyes and go first."

Hermione huffed to herself, but allowed him to go first after all. She considered hexing him from that angle, but did not want to stoop to that level, no matter how tempting it was.

Thankfully, the caves were not many; most were actually short passages like the one that ran out from one of the smaller dungeons toward the Quidditch pitch. The air was frigid there and Hermione felt the hairs on her arms and back of her neck raise in protest of the cold. Her legs were covered in gooseflesh, both from the chill and the uneasy feeling that came along with being confined in the narrow tunnels. Luckily, the area was clear of students and they were able to leave quickly.

They continued down another passage that acted as a kind of loop and did not seem to really go anywhere. As they came full circle, Malfoy stopped in front of her and Hermione almost bumped directly into him.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing, it's just a cat," he muttered, shining his wandlight on the path ahead.

Hermione craned her neck to peer around Malfoy and cried, "Crookshanks!"

Her cat was indeed sitting in the middle of the path, washing his paw and looking rather pleased with himself.

"Clever Crookshanks," Hermione cooed. "Have you been patrolling with us this whole time?"

"That thing is yours?" Malfoy asked incredulously.

As if sensing an affront, Crookshanks turned his gaze toward Malfoy for a moment before sauntering off ahead, bottlebrush tail held high. Hermione irrationally felt safer. Pushing around Malfoy, she followed Crookshanks out of the cave, where she gave him a proper scratching under his chin. The cat purred loudly until Malfoy came back into view.

"You have a real affinity for ugly, oversized ginger things, don't you, Granger?"

Hermione shot him a dark look, but decided not to dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, there's only one more cave..."

It turned out Malfoy had not been wrong: there _was_ someone snogging down there. Wet, smacking sounds and the occasional groan echoed quietly from the passage. Draco cast his _lumos_ at the guilty couple to reveal Pansy Parkinson and a Slytherin boy Hermione knew by sight but not by name. Pansy's uniform blouse was suspiciously unbuttoned part of the way.

"Let's see," Malfoy deliberated, "ten points from Slytherin, Avery. _Fifteen_ from Hufflepuff, Parkinson, since you're you. Then another five for being sorted in with the badgers."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest the injustice behind Malfoy's deductions, but Pansy interrupted her.

"Ask me if I care," the witch huffed, straightening herself up somewhat. "Hufflepuff is a _joke_. Besides, Draco, what are you doing down here with _her_? Coming down to get in some of your own private time?"

"As if," Hermione scoffed, blushing deeply at the insinuation nonetheless.

Malfoy remained utterly unabashed. "Best get back to your commons, it's after hours… you too, Avery."

The Slytherin boy scurried off furtively, but Pansy ran her fingers slowly down Draco's arm and cast him a long gaze before she sauntered away, one of her stockings drooping lower than the other.

Hermione stood awkwardly by Malfoy for a moment before she realized he was staring at her.

"What?" she snapped.

"No need to look so _wistful_ , Granger…"

"You are _disgusting_."

Smirking, Malfoy lead them from the caves, to Hermione's relief. Crookshanks pretended not to follow them, but remained reassuringly about ten paces behind them for the rest of their shift. Hermione thought about the lingering touch Pansy had bestowed on Malfoy's arm before she left.

"Malfoy," she began thoughtfully, remembering that he had taken Pansy to the Yule Ball back in fourth year, "that wasn't… I mean, weren't you involved with Parkinson at one point? Did that bother you, to find her there?"

"Merlin, is _that_ what people think of me? I had worried the worst thing I'd be called this year was a Death Eater, but now I'm to understand I'm considered Parkinson's arm candy! I thought you had determined not to insult me this evening?"

"I'll take that as a 'no' then," she deduced blandly.

"I'm not necessarily calling her a slag, but if she were money she'd be a knut: worthless, two-faced, and in everyone's pants."

Hermione and Malfoy did not speak much for the rest of their patrol, which she was glad of. Finally, they were ascending the spiral staircase up to Ravenclaw Tower, Crookshanks still trailing faithfully behind.

"All… these… effing… stairs!" Malfoy gasped, once they reached the top.

Hermione laughed at her companion's obvious discomfort. She was used to stairs; Gryffindor Tower had been on the seventh floor.

The eagle head door-knocker prompted them with another riddle: "I belong to you but others put me to more frequent use."

Malfoy groaned, clutching his side, "It's too _late_ for this..."

Hermione looked thoughtful a moment, then suggested, "The answer is my name."

"Very true," the eagle head nodded. Obligingly, the door swung inward and Hermione entered, with Malfoy still catching his breath behind her. The common room was mostly empty, but a few stragglers were still sitting up.

"Good night," Hermione called, in what she hoped was an annoyingly cheerful voice.

Her fellow prefect grimaced at her, still clearly irked by all the stairs they had to climb. Zabini was waiting for him by one of the tall, many-paned windows on the far side of the common room. As Draco crossed the room to join him, Hermione felt a pang of jealousy that even _Malfoy_ had friends in Ravenclaw Tower - whereas she would just be heading to bed.

She trudged up the steps to her dormitory, where Padma and Lisa seemed to already be asleep; Sue was quietly reading a book about Quidditch maneuvers and smiled in greeting. After changing into her night things, Hermione crawled under the soft covers of her bed. Crookshanks hopped up onto the comforter and wound himself into a comfortable ginger wheel near her feet.

Exhausted from the first day of classes, coupled with having to deal with Malfoy one-on-one for nearly two hours, Hermione fell asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta love to I_was_BOTWP for this chapter!


	4. Many Meetings

The next day was Friday, characterized by the last of the summer weather. It was hot and horrendously humid, which Hermione's hair seemed to somehow sense even from within Ravenclaw Tower; it was a wreck.

"Woah!" cried Lisa in alarm when Hermione pulled back the curtains of her four-poster. Padma and Sue looked up at the exclamation and both giggled, sharing a look.

Daphne threw her curtains open and glared at the four of them, presumably for making so much noise. She sneered, "Nice hair, Granger."

Hermione ignored her and did the best she could with her wild locks, used to it. Daphne threw on some clothes and left for the bathroom.

Once the offending Slytherin had removed herself, Lisa hopefully requested, "Can I try charming it? I know a lot of beauty charms."

"No, thank you," Hermione insisted, "I appreciate it, but I've really tried everything."

The four girls headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast together, but Padma caught sight of her twin sister, Parvati, and rushed off to catch up to her. Shortly after, Lisa ran into Susan Bones, another former-Hufflepuff, leaving Hermione and Sue alone.

Hermione squirmed; she had always been bad at being friends with other girls and was unsure what to say. Luckily, she was spared thinking of something by the arrival of the Ravenclaw boy in their year Hermione had not recognized.

"Sue! Wait up!" he called, jogging to catch up to the two girls.

"Hey!" Sue greeted. Then, possibly because she noticed Hermione trying to sneak away, she introduced him, "Hermione, have you met Oliver?"

The boy had short dark hair, blue eyes, and was rather soft-spoken. Smiling genially, he stuck out his hand, "Oliver Rivers."

"Pleasure," Hermione murmured, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

" _The_ Hermione Granger, I presume?"

She smiled, "Do you know a lot of Hermiones?"

Oliver laughed quietly, "Fair enough."

"Are you two excited to start Alchemy this morning?" Sue queried as the trio made their way down toward the Great Hall.

"I'm not sure what to expect," Oliver answered. "I found a volume on it in the Stacks, but it looked pretty old. I'm thinking someone left it there a couple centuries ago."

"What are the Stacks?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Merlin, I forgot you don't know!" exclaimed Sue. "It's tradition for every Ravenclaw to leave a book of their choice behind when they graduate. Ravenclaws have been doing it for centuries, so the Stacks have all kinds of things in there..."

"They're in the round chamber off the main common room," Oliver explained. "It's neat because you don't know what you're going to find. I once spent an entire weekend reading about something someone must have left about airplane mechanics. Ingenious, Muggles are! In getting around without magic, I mean."

"You'd like it," Sue confirmed, noting the intrigued expression on Hermione's face. Then, turning to Oliver, "So what _did_ you find out about alchemy?"

"It looks like a mixture of Potions, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. Should be challenging. The book was pretty dog-eared, which is as good an indicator as any that it's a fascinating subject. "

"I suppose we'll find out soon enough," Hermione put in, business-like. "There wasn't time to order the textbook, but I suppose everyone will be behind. I usually like to read my class materials during the summer before term starts up."

"Me, too," echoed the Ravenclaws together.

Grinning, Sue added, "It always amazed me you weren't _originally_ a Ravenclaw, Hermione."

Hermione merely smiled, unsure what to say. She still missed Gryffindor.

They came upon the Great Hall and she craned her neck to look for her friends. Spotting Ginny sitting at the Gryffindor table with Neville, Hermione excused herself. "I'll see you in class."

"See you," Sue called after her retreating form. Hermione heard her turn to Oliver and explain, "She doesn't sit with other Ravenclaws. Meals _or_ classes."

Hermione felt a twinge of regret and vowed to sit with her dorm-mates at lunch. After all, it surely could not hurt to get to know the people she would be sharing a room with all year...

.

.

Alchemy, it turned out, was taught by Professor McGonagall. Hermione tried to remember a time that the Head of Hogwarts had ever taught a class, and she recalled Harry's private "lessons" with Professor Dumbledore back in sixth year. She supposed that did not really count, especially as those sessions had been irregular and extremely exclusive.

The class was made up of only eighth years and there were eight students enrolled, including five Ravenclaws: Hermione, Sue, Ernie, Oliver, and Malfoy. Theo Nott was also there, along with another boy wearing a Gryffindor tie named Stephen Cornfoot. A lone Slytherin, Kevin Entwhistle, was the eighth.

"You've all chosen to study the ancient and finicky art of alchemy," McGonagall began. "This subject will be taught somewhat differently from the other classes you have taken at Hogwarts. Your NEWT scores will be determined by two projects done outside of the classroom with a partner. The first one will be a theoretical research project. The second will be a practical experiment, performed with a different partner. You may pick your first partner now."

Hermione watched with dismay as the other students divvied themselves up by their old Houses again. Malfoy and Nott stepped toward one another quickly. Ernie enthusiastically greeted his former-housemate, Kevin Entwhistle. Sue went over to work with Stephen Cornfoot.

Oliver approached and proposed, "Partners?"

Hermione supposed she had no other choice. Her new house-mate seemed friendly enough, though she knew very little about him. Still, a boy who had once spent an entire weekend reading up about how airplanes worked, couldn't be _all_ bad…

"Sounds good to me."

Glancing around, Oliver observed, "Everyone has reverted back to their old House associates."

"And you got stuck with me," Hermione finished lamely.

Oliver's dark eyebrows raised and he corrected, "I prefer to think I got lucky to get paired with you."

She smiled gratefully at the compliment.

Once everyone had settled into seats by their new partners, McGonagall began to teach. "To begin, alchemy is not a miracle – it is science and magic combined. The basis of this art is in the ability to draw energy from beneath the surface of the earth and use it to power a rearrangement of matter. This is known as transmutation…

"We will begin with a basic understanding of chemistry…"

.

.

A double-block, Alchemy was a three-hour-long class and most of the students were eager to rush off to lunch after such an intense first day of a new subject, especially on a Friday. Keen as the others to head down to the Great Hall, Hermione quickly began packing her things away the moment after McGonagall dismissed them.

"Meet in the library tomorrow?" Oliver suggested, packing his book-bag with magic. Their assignment was indeed a daunting task, partly because it was so vague. "If you don't mind going there on a Saturday, that is?"

Responding as if it had been a challenge that she would not want to spend her Saturday in the library, Hermione nodded, "That sounds like a plan."

He looked as if he was going to wait for her for a moment. She was saved the social awkwardness of walking to lunch with a new acquaintance when McGonagall requested, "Miss Granger, would you stay behind a moment, please?"

"See you tomorrow," Oliver bid, slinging his bag over his shoulder and hastening off to catch up with Stephen Cornfoot.

Though he had already gone, she murmured, "See you…"

On his way out of the classroom with Malfoy, Theo Nott turned around to shoot her a mocking look wherein he clasped his hands together and batted his eyes coquettishly. With a final snicker and a sneer, he was gone.

_He is going to be a problem this year_ , Hermione decided, shaking her head at the former-Slytherin's antics.

The room now emptied, Hermione made her way to the front of the classroom where the Headmistress bestowed her with a rare smile. "Thank you for waiting behind, Miss Granger. How are your classes so far?"

"It's good to be back," Hermione responded diplomatically. "I missed Hogwarts."

"We are now awaiting the arrival of Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. I requested their presences here before lunch, as I have something I would like to impart to the three of you. I will be sure to be brief, as I recall how particular Mr. Weasley is with regard to mealtimes." Hermione smiled at this observation of Ron, though her curiosity was also piqued as to what business McGonagall might have with the three of them. The Headmistress continued, "In the meantime, I would like you to understand my reasoning for not making you Head Girl this year - as naturally, that distinction should have been yours."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I didn't expect…"

McGonagall continued as if Hermione had not made an outburst. "I strongly considered giving you that office, but after everything you went through last year, I thought perhaps you wouldn't want the extra responsibility. As it stands, much of your Hogwarts career has been spent putting a stop to a dangerous sociopath. I thought you might want to enjoy yourself this year, though I noticed your class schedule is very full."

"I do appreciate it," Hermione admitted. "Padma was a good choice."

"How are you finding Ravenclaw?"

"Ravenclaw is nice," Hermione said, biting her bottom lip, "I'll adjust."

McGonagall eyed her student carefully, "I was hoping you could help me by keeping an eye on Mr. Malfoy. To be sure, it was a surprise when he was sorted there. I can only hope this means he has changed."

Frowning, Hermione asked, "Why make him a prefect if he needs to be watched?"

"Sometimes, in order to initiate a transformation into becoming a good person, all we require is the means to prove we are that person already," the Headmistress said wisely. "Professor Dumbledore always believed there was a good person within young Mr. Malfoy, despite his mistakes. As it turned out, the Headmaster had impeccable judgment of character, even if he never shared his reasoning…"

Hermione thought of Malfoy, who had never been anything but rude toward her, unless he had been purposefully hurtful. He was cunning when he wanted to be, also manipulative. Hermione could not discern the good person... she wondered how McGonagall had managed.

The conversation was cut short by the voices of Harry and Ron echoing in from the hallway. They seemed to be joking about a class they had just come from together, and Hermione felt a pang of sadness that she had not been there to share in on the fun, whatever it had been. When the boys entered, Harry shot Hermione a grin and Ron nudged her on the shoulder in familiarity. They stood on either side of her just as they usually did, setting her nerves to rest with the familiar arrangement.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall greeted. "I hope your classes are going well, so far. How are you adjusting to Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"So far, so good," Ron replied happily.

"It's great to be back," Harry agreed, echoing Hermione's earlier sentiments.

"This will not take up much of your time: I would like to bestow the three of you with awards for services to the school. You will find they have arrived this morning and can be located in the trophy room." Sensing Harry's protest before it could exit his mouth, McGonagall raised one hand, "Before you argue, Mr. Potter, I insist this was an honor."

Harry clamped his mouth shut.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said simply, feeling lightly pleased.

Reunited once more, the Golden Trio descended the staircase toward the Great Hall while discussing this new development. Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder and crowed, "That's two we have in there, mate!"

"Actually, Harry has three," Hermione pointed out, "if you include the Triwizard Cup."

"She really didn't need to do that," Harry insisted, looking embarrassed.

.

.

At a quarter of an hour to the appointed time, Hermione trundled down the spiral staircase of Ravenclaw Tower for the prefects' meeting. When she arrived, Padma greeted her with a smile, "Hey, Hermione."

"Hey, Padma."

The other prefects slowly trickled in, including those from other years. Malfoy sauntered in two minutes late, as if to demonstrate how little he approved of being summoned. He took a seat in the back, alone.

The meeting began with Ernie determining that everyone was clear on the areas of the castle the prefects were meant to patrol, and making sure no one had any questions. He then added, "The Headmistress has requested that we brainstorm some ideas toward improving school morale."

"Some of the younger students seem to constantly be expecting an attack," a fifth-year Hufflepuff pointed out sadly.

"Do you blame them?" a sixth-year Slytherin responded darkly.

" _Oooh_ ," Hannah Abbott giggled, "we could have a _dance_. Remember the Yule Ball in fourth year?"

"You mean the one most of us weren't old enough to attend?" grumbled a Gryffindor sixth year.

Nodding vigorously, Ernie complimented, "That's not a bad notion, Hannah."

Most of the boys in the room scowled at the idea, but many of the girls grew visibly excited. Hermione inwardly groaned. Her personal experience at the Yule Ball had been mixed, at best.

"Couldn't we begin a support group for students affected by the events of last year?" she suggested hopefully. "Maybe meet once a week and let people talk about what's bothering them…?"

Some of the prefects looked thoughtful as they considered her suggestion, but most seemed to regard the idea with distaste.

Speaking for the first time, Malfoy sneered, "Yes, let's talk about our _feelings_. What a rubbish notion."

"Nobody asked _you_ ," Dean Thomas snapped before Hermione could respond. She shot her former-housemate a grateful half-smile.

"I like the idea of a dance," Padma firmly decided. Hermione recalled Padma had gone with Ron to the Yule Ball and that Ron had completely ignored her. "Those in favor?"

Most of the girls in the room raised their hands, and some of the boys. It was nineteen to fifteen. Hermione sighed inwardly as she accepted the inevitable.

"A school dance it is," Ernie concluded, looking pleased. He had been amongst those in favor. "Should we have another winter ball like last time?"

"A formal!" squealed a sixth-year Hufflepuff.

Noting the glum faces of the boys in the room, Dean suggested, "Why not make it more casual? Weekend clothes, that sort of thing. We can make it fun instead of formal."

Some of the boys perked up at this suggestion, while a few of the girls looked disappointed.

"That would certainly make it easier to plan," Padma pointed out, "especially as I'm sure most students haven't brought their dress robes with them to school."

"Can we at least make it a Halloween dance, then?" Hannah proposed. "That way, people can go in costumes if they want."

After running through the logistics of planning such a thing, a Halloween dance was officially in the works. Ernie and Padma adjourned the meeting a quarter of an hour later.

Hermione left immediately, but decided to take the long way back to Ravenclaw Tower. Instead of turning right out of the classroom they used for the meeting, she took a left. Strictly speaking, she was not really supposed to wander the halls at night despite that it was still before curfew, but there was a lot on her mind and she was not sure going back up to Ravenclaw was going to help. The common room was beautiful… the bookshelves that lined the walls were begging to be explored… she yearned to examine the mysterious Stacks which Oliver had earlier mentioned… but for a few minutes, Hermione really only wanted the solace of her own thoughts.

More than that, she wished for a friend. Her meandering feet led her to the third floor corridor, her fingers brushing the stone walls of the castle as she wandered. Noticing a silvery movement up ahead, she rounded the corner with curiosity and came face-to-face with Nearly Headless Nick, the resident ghost for Gryffindor.

"Hermione!" Nick greeted affably, bowing in deference. Since his head was mostly severed from his neck, the act made it wobbly dangerously in his Elizabethan doublet.

"Hello, Nick."

"Allow me to offer my most sincere – if overdue – compliments on your assistance in the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Nick proffered. "As always, Gryffindor produces the most exemplary witches and wizards!"

"I'm not a Gryffindor anymore though, Nick," Hermione pointed out, gesturing to her blue-and-bronze tie. "See?"

He waved this away, "Once a Gryffindor… always, in your heart. It was your bravery that helped you win the war, not your intellect."

"Intellect sure helped though," Hermione put in, but smiled at the compliment nonetheless.

"You seem troubled," the ghost observed. Several suits of armor clanked noisily at them as they passed. Hermione noticed that a few of them had new dents in their metal, likely from the battle the previous May. One was missing an arm entirely; she steered clear of this one just in case, thinking it looked like a good place for Peeves to hide.

"It's hard being the only lion in the eagle's nest," she explained.

"As someone whose very existence is inarguably neither here nor there, I understand how you're feeling. Lions belong on the open plain, eagles belong in the sky. Likewise, a snake prefers to slither through the underbrush and a badger excels at burrowing beneath the surface."

Hermione nodded at this wisdom, "You're right: we're all displaced."

"Exactly," Nick agreed, glad she had caught on to his euphemism. Wanting to cheer her up, he added, "This morning, I observed the addition of three very large plaques to the trophy room."

Hermione grinned, "I haven't seen them yet."

"A travesty!" Nick cried. "Permit me to escort you there."

They accessed the trophy room through the armor gallery on the third floor, a little way away from where they had been conversing. Awards, trophies, cups, plates, shields, statues, and medals were displayed lavishly behind crystal glass and on black velvet. Some sat outside of the cases, on tables, or hung on the walls. Harry's Triwizard Cup was front and center, giving off an eerie bluish glow. The three new plaques were eye-grabbing, even from their place on the far wall.

Hermione looked but did not stay long. After thanking Nick for his company and advice, she said goodnight.

"It was my pleasure," he bowed, head wobbling precariously once more. "There is a short-cut to the fourth floor behind that portrait."

With that, he merely floated through the wall, leaving Hermione alone again but a lot less contemplative. A small plaque below the portrait Nick had gestured to, indicated the painting was of Brutus Scrimgeour, and Hermione noticed it did indeed swing forward. She ascended the stair and ended up in the fourth floor corridor, as promised. By the time she returned to the eighth year girls' dormitory Ravenclaw Tower, Hermione was smiling broadly.

"What's got you in such a great mood?" Lisa inquired curiously.

"Not much," she shrugged. With a quick glance around the room, she noticed the former-Hufflepuff was alone, occupying herself by reading a small book. "What are you reading?"

"My journal. I kept it all seven years here and, well, I've been missing Hufflepuff. I mean, I'm glad Ernie's here too… but we weren't ever that close."

Hermione thought back to Nearly-Headless Nick's words: _A badger excels at burrowing beneath the surface_. Perhaps Lisa was feeling just as out-of-place as Hermione was.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione recalled the girl's request that morning and offered, "Well if you're feeling up to it, maybe you can try charming my hair. You know… now that we're done with classes for the day… in case something goes wrong..."

With a huge smile spreading across her face, Lisa closed the little journal with a snap and leapt from her bed. Excitedly, she breathed, "Can I _really_?"

Ignoring the ominous feeling settling in her stomach, Hermione nodded. She worried she might end up with purple hair again, the way she had when Lavender Brown had tried to charm it back in third year. Still, it was the weekend, and the risk was worth Lisa's contagious excitement.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I stole the idea of "the Stacks" from something someone posted on tumblr because it sounded like a thing Ravenclaws would do. Not my original headcanon!
> 
> Beta appreciation for Chapter 4 is due to I_was_BOTWP.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments so far! I love reading them!


	5. Jasmine & Vinegar

A lone falcon circled the turret of Ravenclaw Tower the next morning while the pale rays of early light danced across the surface of the Black Lake. The falcon glided easily through unseen thermals, drifting away over the Forbidden Forest. Hermione watched its lazy progress from the window by her four-poster, wrapped in a sky-blue quilt.

A thestral suddenly sprang from the edge of the forest and snatched the bird from the air, devouring its morning meal with gusto.

She wrenched her wide eyes away from the window, disturbed. Glancing at the clock on the wall – it was only a quarter past six – she knew she would not get any more sleep that morning. She was also no longer hungry after witnessing the falcon's fate from the tower window.

Her fellow eighth-years were all sleeping quietly, so Hermione pulled on her bathrobe and gathered all her things for a long, relaxing bath in the prefects' bathroom.

It was early and she was doing nothing wrong, but she was still thankful she met no one in the corridors.

 _One of the perks of being a Ravenclaw_ , Hermione thought as she sank below the suds filling the enormous tub, _is being close to this bathroom_.

Surfacing, she gasped in a breath of the thick, perfumed air. She balanced herself against the side of the tub and glanced around the room. Stained glass windows embellished much of the walls, which were otherwise lined with the same kind of tiles as the floor. The tub was roughly the size of a small swimming pool and gilded with gold. Hermione loved coming here in the early morning when no one else would bother her. It was nice to have some moments of uninterrupted privacy.

Dozens of unusually shaped taps lined the edge of the tub, each ready to release a different kind of soap. Hermione only chose one - her favorite - and it spewed out thick, white foam-like clouds upon which you could almost float on if you were able to distribute your weight evenly enough. There were actual jasmine flowers drifting throughout.

While Hermione never took a long shower, baths were a different story: baths were relaxing and sensual. By the time she had finished, it was quarter past seven and she felt a good deal better than she had after witnessing the thestral eat the falcon.

Unplugging the drain and wrapping her hair in a towel, she dressed in her weekend clothes. It was now late enough that someone might see her leaving and she did not want to be in her bathrobe if such a confrontation were to occur. She began toweling down her hair, noting with extreme surprise that the wash had not done away with Lisa's charms on it from the previous night.

When she was done, Hermione glanced in the tall mirror at her reflection. The girl that looked back had long, _long_ hair, almost to her waist. It had been no small shock that Lisa's handy charm had almost completely straightened it in very little time at all. It was unsettling, she thought, how she almost did not look like herself. She left her hair loose to air-dry the rest of the way and tucked her things into the crook of her elbow as she left.

She almost smacked right into Malfoy as she exited.

" _Granger_?" he gaped, very un-Malfoy like.

"Sorry," she apologized quickly, only half-registering who it was that she had almost bumped.

They stood transfixed for a moment in silence… just Hermione, Malfoy, and the statue of Boris the Bewildered that guarded the prefects' bathroom. When he did not move out of her way, she grew impatient.

"No need to look so _wistful_ , Malfoy," she sneered, echoing his statement from their first patrol together when they had discovered Pansy snogging Avery in the caves. "I'd like to pass."

"Right," he muttered dazedly as if he had been hit with a _Confundus_. He stepped to the side and she stalked by, the scent of jasmine wafting behind her, refusing to grant him even a backward glance.

.

.

" _Ooh_ , it held up overnight!" Lisa chirped excitedly.

Hermione grinned at her new friend, "Through a bath, too, it seems."

Students were slowly trickling into the Great Hall for breakfast. Luna and Ginny traipsed in presently and Hermione waved them over to the Ravenclaw table where she sat with Lisa. Ginny did a double-take when she saw Hermione and dragged Luna along to join them.

"Hermione," Ginny goggled, her eyes wide, "your _hair_!"

Lisa looked incredibly smug for a former-Hufflepuff. Hermione shrugged her shoulders, put off by the attention.

"It must be an odd feeling," Luna remarked airily. "Perhaps like a shrubbery feels after it's been pruned."

Lisa looked like she was not quite sure what to make of Luna.

They were shortly joined by Harry, who casually voiced some surprise that Ron was not yet present. He sat beside Ginny and in front of Lisa, who stared at him and fell quiet.

Squinting at Hermione through his thick glasses, Harry slowly asked, "Have you done something different, Hermione?"

Ginny giggled, pecking him on the cheek, while Hermione rolled her eyes. "Lisa charmed my hair. This is Lisa Turpin, by the way, Harry. She's now Ravenclaw, too."

It took Lisa a moment to loosen up around Harry, but soon she was joking around with the rest of them. Harry good-naturedly pretended not to notice.

"Wonder where that brother of mine is?" Ginny speculated, craning her neck toward the entrance as Seamus entered alone. "Seamus!" she called, beckoning for him to come over. At the Irish boy's approach, she queried, "Where's Ron?"

"He was still sleeping when I left," Seamus shrugged.

Hermione finished her breakfast before Ron even made an appearance. Eager to dive into her schoolwork, she opted not to wait for him. Instead, she pulled her hair back into a practical bun to avoid more unnecessary attention and headed to the library. She spent a couple of hours working on some Transfiguration homework that was not due until the following week, then began an Arithmancy assignment.

Her head shot up when a book-bag was slung into a chair opposite her at the table she had taken over. Oliver smiled as he joined her, the blues of his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I came early to get some work done and here you are, too."

"It's nice to be able to take advantage of the library while it's quiet at the beginning of term and all the books are still checked in," Hermione observed, moving her things over to make room for him.

The duo worked in semi-silence, dividing and conquering the research for their Alchemy project, only occasionally commenting when one found something intriguing or helpful. Once they were satisfied they had each found sufficient information to begin researching more fully, they decided to pack up. Oliver again packed his things neatly into his bag with magic, while Hermione took a few moments - out of habit - to put her ink away the Muggle way.

As she was screwing on a cap of an ink bottle, Oliver spoke up, "Ernie was talking about the fact that the prefects are planning a Halloween dance. I wanted to ask you before someone else did."

Gaping at him like she had never seen him before, Hermione blinked a few moments in surprise.

Suddenly guarded, Oliver continued, "Of course, if you don't want to…"

"No, I didn't mean… actually, that would be lovely."

A smile broadened his features and he chimed, "Great. I'll see you around?"

"Of course."

Things packed away and books checked out, Oliver excused himself to go meet up with some friends, leaving Hermione to begin climbing the staircases toward her dormitory on her own. Her feet on auto-pilot, her mind began to wander. She was pleasantly surprised at Oliver's apparent interest in her. He seemed nice enough, was clearly intelligent, and had a great smile. She had not dared think she would be able to jump into any kind of dating so quickly after her sort-of-break-up with Ron, even if it was only to a school dance.

Mind idly drifting through pleasant thoughts, she waited patiently as one of the main staircases she had stepped onto began to shift. Presently, the staircase steadied itself into its new direction and she felt a small smile curling onto her mouth. Until…

"Granger," greeted Theo Nott, falling into step beside her as she strode into the main sixth floor corridor.

"Nott," she answered monosyllabically, determined to ignore him.

"Where are you headed, Granger? Ravenclaw Tower is the other way."

Hermione paused a moment and realized with frustration that she had been on her way to the Gryffindor commons out of sheer habit. Under her breath, she muttered, "Bother."

"Forgot where your common room is?" Theo teased. "Not very Ravenclaw of you. If your book-bag is anything to guess by, you've just checked out half the library, so unless you were planning to satisfy your urges in the sixth floor corridor, you'll have to turn around. Somewhere a bit more private, perhaps…"

"Hermione!" Ginny called, waving as she hurried over from the opposite direction.

Hermione had never been more grateful for Ginny's sudden appearance, as she was blushing scarlet and desperately wanted to be anywhere but alone with Theodore Nott. Catching sight of the former-Slytherin, Ginny paused. Looking Theo up and down, Ginny demanded, "Can we help you, Nott?"

"Just on the way to my common room when I ran into Granger, here, who was going to attempt a gate-crash," Theo drawled lazily, correctly guessing Hermione's directional faux pas. Flickering a grin her direction, he drifted away toward the seventh-floor staircase. "See you around, Granger."

"Are you friends with him?" Ginny quizzed skeptically.

"Not at all."

"Hmm, probably just as well," the redhead mused. "Anyway, I was on my way to Ravenclaw Tower to tell you next… Party in the Slytherin commons tonight! I've just been to Gryffindor to tell Neville, Luna and the others. They're totally in."

Stepping onto the staircase that would bring them back down to the fifth floor where her common room was, Hermione frowned, "Can you _have_ an inter-House party in a common room?"

Wagging her finger at her friend, Ginny cautioned, "Don't try to dissuade me, Hermione. McGonagall seems to want inter-House unity, doesn't she? Besides, it's far too late. Even the house elves are in on it; they're bringing snacks in an hour."

"Ginny!"

Hands on her hips, Ginny took an offensive stance; it was remarkable how much she resembled Mrs. Weasley when she did this. "Hermione, you _may_ be a prefect but we are going to have a _party_ in the Slytherin commons. You can either get your knickers untwisted and come have a good time… or you can stay up in Ravenclaw Tower to _study_ on a Saturday night."

Miffed and somewhat offended, Hermione made a noncommittal noise as the girls stepped out onto the landing, and made to head toward the Ravenclaw commons.

Catching her up, Ginny paused them near the tower landing. "...But I _do_ hope you come."

It was as good as an apology, from her. Hermione sighed and glanced toward the staircase that would bring her up the spiraling stair to her new quarters. A few other students were coming and going, quietly for the most part. _Would a party really hurt?_

She decided, "Alright, I'll come."

"Yay!"

"But no alcohol," Hermione added hastily. "School rules."

Ginny stopped in her tracks and her face slowly morphed into a blank stare.

"Ginny…" she began warningly.

"It's not _me_. But Harry may or may not be coming back from Hogsmeade right now with supplies."

"How is he… wait." Hermione closed her eyes in realization, then quietly queried, "The Marauder's Map and his cloak?"

"Oh, look, I don't think I've ever seen this portrait before…"

"Ginevra Weasley!"

"Okay, fine!" Ginny confirmed, stamping her foot. "We _might_ be planning some drunken festivities, which just so _happen_ to be illicit. Is that _so_ wrong?"

"It's rather Slytherin, I dare say," drawled a familiar voice from behind them. Both girls spun around quickly.

"Malfoy," Ginny acknowledged coldly.

He was just stepping off the last step of the tower staircase and Hermione could not help but feel she was bumping into the former-Slytherin an awful lot lately. She supposed that was only to be expected, now that they were sharing a common room.

Glancing at Ginny and taking in the pink cardigan that made up part of her weekend outfit, Malfoy sneered, "Pink's not really _your_ color… is it, Weaslette?"

Ginny was not the type of person to back down from a verbal joust. If faced with a rampaging dragon, she would prefer to throw dungbombs at it, just to see what would happen. She retorted, " _Polite's_ not really _your_ color… is it, Malfoy?"

He shrugged, uncaring. Then, turning to Hermione he raised his pale eyebrows and suggested, "Surely you're not going to condone a party after hours, Saint Granger?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Malfoy... _you're a prefect too_!"

"Believe me, I thought about taking points, but then I remembered we're in the same House now." He grimaced like this was a hardship, then flickered his eyes back to Ginny, "The Slytherin dungeons haven't admitted an outsider in more than seven centuries."

"Tell that to Harry and Ron," Hermione snorted.

"I highly doubt this year counts with its ridiculous re-sorting…"

"Harry and my brother went into the Slytherin common room back in their second year, for your information," Ginny informed him proudly. "They disguised themselves with polyjuice."

Frowning deeply, Draco seemed at a loss. "No second year can brew a polyjuice. Additionally, the purchase of some would be forbidden."

"Tell that first bit to Hermione," Ginny scoffed. "She brewed it just fine in second year, judging from the fact that you still never noticed those cronies that used to shadow you everywhere acting a bit funny one evening all those years ago."

Hermione turned to Ginny with a cold fury in her eyes, "You talk too much."

"Why would Potter and Weasley want to turn into Crabbe and Goyle?"

"They were trying to discover who the Heir of Slytherin was. Honestly, where _were_ you that year?"

"You _really_ talk too much, Ginny!" Hermione groaned, adjusting her heavy book-bag where it was digging into her shoulder.

"If I recall," Malfoy flouted, "the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets turned out to be _you_."

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but the _basilisk_ never hurt me," Ginny sang, childishly sticking out her tongue at him and grabbing Hermione's arm to drag her away. "Come on, Hermione, we're wasting our time with this snake."

Hermione stood rooted to the spot. Glaring at Draco, she demanded, "Are you going to tell about the party or not, Malfoy?"

She did not trust the gleam in his gray eyes one bit when he responded, "Of course not. You need to loosen up a bit."

"I don't trust you."

He shrugged, impishly casting a final smirk in their direction before crossing in front of them and sidling through a concave section of wall. This appeared to actually be a passage of some sort, because he disappeared from sight a second later.

"Did you know that was there?" Ginny asked, staring at the place Malfoy had disappeared into.

Hermione shook her head. She sure was curious now, though.

"Come on," Ginny encouraged, leading Hermione toward the descending staircase nearby. "You can come to Hufflepuff with me to tell Ron and the others about the party."

Resolving to explore the hidden passage later, Hermione allowed Ginny to drag her down six flights of stairs and toward the corridor where Hermione knew the Hogwarts kitchens were hidden beyond a painting of a bowl of fruit. Her reservations about continuing the party after their run-in with Malfoy were stronger than ever. However, reasoning with Ginny was often like making orations to a gargoyle. She resolved to speak to Harry about it, if possible.

Ginny seemed to know where she was headed, but Hermione was politely puzzled when her friend came to a stop in front of a stack of enormous oaken barrels and announced, "Here we are."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Ron did say there was no password, but how do we get in… and _where_ do we get in?" While she knew she was not supposed to be going into the other Houses' common areas, she had to admit she felt a kind of burning curiosity.

Ginny pulled out her wand and seemed to be muttering to herself, "Let's see… Ron said barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row…"

"Do you just tap the barrel, or…?"

"Yes, five times." She selected the correct barrel, double-checking to make sure, and tapped a cadence on it with her wand exactly five times.

Without warning, the barrel's lid sprang off and vinegar erupted forth, dousing Ginny. Hermione barely sprang out of the way in time, and some still got on her trainers anyway. She was nowhere near as badly off as Ginny, whose entire body, clothes and hair were completely soaked. The stench was formidable.

" _Prat_!" she screeched. "When I get my hands on you, Ron Weasley…"

Hermione waved her wand, using a _Scourgify_ to vanish the vinegar.

It only sort-of worked. While Ginny was no longer drenched in the stuff, the smell remained potent and a stickiness seemed to linger about her person.

"Is someone trying to break into the common room?" a curious voice wafted from within the casks and into the little nook of the hall.

"We were trying to see Ron Weasley," Hermione answered the disembodied voice, "but we couldn't get past the barrels."

The grinning head of Justin Finch-Fletchley emerged from the same cask they had been trying to gain entry through.

"I've been waiting seven years for someone to get doused in vinegar," he told them gleefully, which did not improve Ginny's foul mood.

"What did we do wrong?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Did you tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row?" When they nodded, Justin continued, "Did you tap five times in the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff'?"

"There's a _rhythm_?" Ginny seethed. "When I get my hands on that brother of mine…"

"Try again," Justin snickered, his head disappearing back within.

Warily, Hermione took out her wand and approached the barrel in question, careful to tap five times to the rhythm Justin suggested. She was ready to spring aside, just in case. Instead of spouting vinegar this time, the cask's lid lifted open and the mouth enlarged enough to allow them to crawl through.

The Hufflepuff common room was enormous and completely round with a low ceiling. The circular windows were higher up on the walls to allow sunlight to filter in and offered a view of the rippling grass and nodding dandelions of the lawn. It seemed they were mostly underground.

If Hermione had been asked to describe the Hufflepuff common in a single word, she would probably have chosen 'cozy'. Overstuffed chairs and sofas dotted the room, upholstered in the House colors of yellow and black. On the far wall hung a large portrait of an older, kindly-looking witch with reddish-blonde hair and a medieval dress. Her eyes bore established crow's feet and in her hands were grasping a cup Hermione recognized instantly. She, herself, had destroyed that very cup only months ago, simultaneously destroying one of Voldemort's hidden horcruxes.

Beneath Helga Hufflepuff's portrait, an eye-grabbing hearth took up a large section of the wall. The fireplace molding depicted intricate carvings of many different badgers out of a honey-colored wood. Otherwise, much of the room was covered in burnished copper and interesting plant specimens. Various flora curled around lamps, crawled up walls and onto the ceiling, or danced along window-sills.

"Hermione? Ginny? What are you doing in here?" Seamus asked, padding out from one of the circular doors leading away from the common room. Hermione could only assume the dormitories were beyond these portals.

"We came to see Ron," she answered.

"Why does it smell like vinegar in here?" complained a small boy on one of the nearby sofas. He was tiny enough to be a first year and was quickly hushed by an older student.

"Intruders," Justin answered, appearing near Hermione with a grin. To Ginny, he offered, "Sorry."

It appeared this was the wrong thing to say.

"What kind of House has a _punishment_ for getting the password wrong?" she hissed. "Gryffindor and Slytherin have a set word that changes every so often and if you don't know it, you don't get in. Ravenclaw…"

Ginny was staring expectantly at Hermione, who quickly supplied, "We have to answer a riddle every time."

"I bet you don't get _doused in vinegar_ if you get the riddle wrong!"

Biting back a smile, Hermione shook her head, "No, you just don't get to go in."

"Where is Ron?" Ginny demanded, glaring at Seamus.

"He's in the dorm," the former-Gryffindor responded, quailing under her gaze and looking very much as though he did not envy Ron Weasley in that moment. "I'll go get him..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a bunch to those who commented! Hearing your thoughts and opinions brightens my day and makes me grin like an idiot in public areas.
> 
> Bucketfuls of beta appreciation for I_was_BOTWP.


	6. Words

The seventh and eighth year Hufflepuffs seemed receptive enough to the idea of a party in the Slytherin commons, but they also agreed not to invite Pansy Parkinson, who had become something of a pariah in the very few days it had been since the beginning of term. Ginny did not try to change their minds; she had not yet forgiven Pansy for trying to sell Harry out to Snape and the Carrows the previous year.

Before Hermione and Ginny departed the Hufflepuff commons, Ron paid the price for his sister getting doused with vinegar. The girls left him with persimmons tumbling out of his ears at regular intervals.

Determined to enjoy herself for a change and ignore the fact that Malfoy knew she was going to indulge in some rule-breaking that evening, Hermione trudged back upstairs to her dorm to freshen herself up for the party. On her way there, she sated her curiosity about where Malfoy had gone earlier, and peeked through the concave section of wall he had disappeared through. The hidden entrance opened around a tight corner and into a narrow little passage like a balcony. It was small, with minimal exposure to the elements. Hermione doubted that any but Ravenclaws even knew it was there; she certainly hadn't.

Feeling her discovery had been very anti-climatic, she chastised herself for her curiosity and ascended the spiral stair to the common room entrance. There, she came face-to-face with the ex-Slytherin himself. He was stuck outside Ravenclaw Tower in front of the eagle head door-knocker.

"Bloody hell, I don't know!"

"Malfoy?" Hermione queried, coming to a stop beside him. "Are you stuck on the riddle?"

He rolled his eyes at the sight of her. "Ah, wonderful. Here is the Gryffindor brainiac to deliver salvation. Go on then, Granger… save the day. It's the most imbecilic poem I've ever heard of…"

Ignoring his irritability, she turned to the bronze door-knocker. Tilting her head, she prompted, "Well?"

The guardian recited, "We hurt without moving. We poison without touching. We bear the truth and the lies. We are not to be judged by our size."

Hermione shifted uneasily where she stood, adjusting her heavy bag on her shoulder. "I'm not surprised you can't get that one."

Gazing disdainfully down the end of his nose at her, Malfoy took a step forward so he could get right into her personal space and make himself intimidating. This was not difficult, as he had at least six inches on her in the height department. When he was this close, Hermione noted that his eyes had a slight azure tinge, rather than being just gray like she had always assumed they were. He sneered, "No need to rub it in my face, _professor_."

Hermione felt uncomfortable that his face was close enough to hers for her to be quibbling over the exact shade of his irises. She tilted her chin up defiantly, meeting his haughty gaze with her own measure of scorn. She took note of the proud curve of his lips, with the divot in the center like a bow pulled taut for release.

"Break it down," she challenged. "'We hurt without moving… we poison without touching…'"

"I'm not interested in the logic, Granger. I'm interested in entering the bloody tower."

Hermione could feel his breath on her face. Refusing to be cowed by him, she retorted in her most annoyingly matter-of-fact voice, "You'll never _learn_ if the answer is always handed to you. Try again. 'We bear the truth and the lies… we are not to be judged by our size.'"

"I don't know!" he pouted, wrenching himself away to stalk across the landing.

She sighed deeply, "I know you don't."

"Just what does _that_ mean?" he demanded, eyes flashing.

"'Hurt without moving, poison without touching, bear truth and lies, not to be judged by size...'" she repeated. Then, turning to the guardian, she answered, " _Words_. Our words do all these things."

"Well reasoned," the guardian complimented as the door unlatched, opening inward.

Unmoving, Malfoy stood there a moment, digesting what she had said to him.

"I know you won't, but perhaps you'd benefit from thinking on that particular riddle," Hermione admonished, turning to enter.

Her foot slipped on the step and she had to throw her hands out to catch herself, her bookbag falling to the floor and splitting at the seam. Books, parchment, vials of ink and quills spilled across the landing. She expected to hit the stone floor hard and braced herself for it, but it never came.

Malfoy had grabbed her arm to prevent her falling. He pulled her back up by it.

"Let go," she requested frantically. His hand was still wrapped around her forearm.

He released her and she rubbed the spot where he had grabbed; it was directly on top of the scar Bellatrix had given her the previous May in Malfoy's own home, though covered consciously with her cardigan sleeve. It was likely he was unaware of this.

Malfoy reached for his wand and for a moment, Hermione thought he was going to hex her. Instead, he used it to repair her bag. The books she had checked out from the library that morning flew back into it along with the (mercifully still intact) ink vials and other supplies. Her school bag hovered for a moment before settling heavily onto her shoulder, good as new.

"I'm not very good with words, Granger," he informed her simply, then disappeared into the common room ahead of her.

Hermione stared at the place he had stood for a moment, the flash of his slate-gray eyes knifing through her mind. _Maybe this was what McGonagall saw when she made him a prefect…?_

She shook herself, rationalizing that there was no reason for her to be standing in front of the Ravenclaw guardian any longer. Taking care not to slip on the entry step this time, she entered and went straight for the eighth year girls' dormitory, keeping her head down just in case Malfoy was somewhere in the common room.

Their encounter had just been too weird. And what had he been doing on that hidden balcony earlier?

Throwing her repaired book-bag onto her four-poster, Hermione took note of the empty room with satisfaction and grabbed her hairbrush, heading for the small bathroom just off the dormitory.

Telltale wet, splashing sounds interrupting by coughing and gagging met her on the other side of the door. Someone was being sick in the far toilet. Uncomfortable, Hermione timidly called, "Hello?"

A pause in the repugnant noises followed by a flush, signaled the end of the purge. The stall door banged open and Daphne Greengrass emerged, looking pale.

"Do you need help to the Hospital Wing?" Hermione queried, business-like despite that the former-Slytherin girl had never been anything but rude to her.

Daphne said nothing, but walked to the sink farthest from Hermione and began brushing her teeth. Miffed that she had not even got a response from her reluctant dorm-mate, Hermione acquiesced to the unspoken request that Daphne be left alone. She began her toilette as if the other girl were not there.

When Daphne had finished, she rinsed her mouth methodically and then turned to Hermione, "It's not fair."

"Oh, are we talking now?" she snapped out brusquely.

"I didn't know what to say."

Realization dawned. "You were purging on purpose."

"Yes," Daphne nodded.

"Why?"

" _Look_ at me!" the girl cried, gesturing to her body. She was intimidatingly tall, probably almost six foot, but stocky as well. "No one wants to be with a too tall girl! Especially not a _fat_ , tall girl!"

Hermione was stunned into silence for the second time in less than half-an-hour, by a former snake acting distinctly un-Slytherin-like.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Daphne continued, misinterpreting Hermione's silence, "you're just the right height, and you're _thin_."

Feeling embarrassment creeping onto her cheeks, Hermione pointed at herself and announced, "Bookworm. Muggle-born. Remember? In some circles, neither of those are considered to be at all desirable."

"At least you never were Slytherin," Daphne protested, some of the color returning to her sickly cheeks with the effort of their argument. "There's so much hatred toward us all after the War. We've had to stick together. Because of my House and my family, no one is ever going to love me if I'm not absolutely gorgeous. I can't do anything about my height… so I purge."

"Everything is in upheaval," Hermione tried to make the other girl understand. "There is still so much prejudice after the war. Now's your chance to show people you're not a scary Slytherin pureblood…"

"But I _am_ a scary Slytherin pureblood!"

Hermione shook her head, "I'd wager there's more to you than that."

Daphne sighed a deep sigh. Her stomach rumbled, indicating her hunger. She looked miserable. "It sucks having no friends in this stupid roost."

Hermione recalled that Daphne had previously been a part of Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls, often hanging around Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. "What about Malfoy and Zabini?"

"Oh, but they're _boys_ ," Daphne rolled her eyes. "Do you have any idea how annoying boys are to hang out with all the time?"

Hermione merely raised an eyebrow at the other girl.

"Oh, right," she realized. "Potter and Weasley."

"You know, there are drawbacks to being Harry's friend, too. It's just a different set of prejudices."

Daphne snorted in disbelief.

"I'm serious! There's… all kinds of unwanted attention," she expanded, thinking specifically of the press.

"Better to have too much attention than to be pointedly ignored," the other girl dissented.

Hermione disagreed, but did not say so. She preferred recognition for her accomplishments, rather than for who she chose to associate with. "You know, you could try being friends with the girls in our dorm. We aren't so bad and you never even gave us a chance."

"Being Slytherin post-war, though…"

"…doesn't have to be as bad as _that_ ," Hermione finished for her, pointing at the far toilet with her hairbrush.

Daphne paused for a long moment and began wringing her hands. Her stomach rumbled again. "I don't know what to say."

Hermione thought of McGonagall's goals toward inter-House unity and her own unexpected success in making new friends so far. In a small voice, she offered, "I'll be your friend."

"But you're Gryffindor… and a Mud…" Daphne began, catching herself just in time. She corrected, "Muggle-born."

"Yes," Hermione answered simply, because it was true.

"I don't even know how to be friends with someone like you."

Grinning, Hermione suggested, "I'd be willing to bet that the Sorting Hat didn't place you in Ravenclaw because you were bad at learning. We're all having a party in the Slytherin commons tonight. You should come."

"You're doing what?" Daphne demanded, thunderstruck.

"Everyone wants to see the scary dungeons. It'll be fun."

She shook her head vigorously, looking like she might cry. "I'm not ready to go back down there. I spent my first night back comparing every little thing in Ravenclaw to everything I missed in Slytherin. What if it isn't how I remember?"

Hermione's grin disappeared. She knew that feeling precisely. Letting it go, she tried a different tack, "Well, let's at least get you something to eat. I'm sure you're hungry."

.

.

Later that evening, as the Ravenclaws began readying themselves for the unauthorized party, Hermione insisted Daphne at least keep them company in their dormitory. At first, the other girls had some difficulty allowing her to shift into their clique - but after a few minutes of Daphne not insulting any of them, they took their cues from Hermione and began cautiously including her.

"Hair charm still holding up!" Lisa exulted, watching as Hermione pulled the top half of her hair back, allowing the rest to hang loosely.

Hermione smiled. "You're going to have to teach me that one."

"It looks great," Daphne complimented sincerely, a meager smile flickering briefly onto her face. She was belly-down on her four-poster, watching three of her dorm-mates prepare themselves for the party she was not attending.

"Padma agreed to look the other way for the evening when I told her where we were going," Sue mentioned, glancing toward the only empty bed of the five. Padma would not be attending either. "Head Girl and all that…"

"What's the Slytherin common room like, Daphne?" Lisa questioned. The former-Hufflepuff had accepted the girl's presence more quickly than Sue initially had.

"It's all underground and the walls are glass so you can view into the lake," Daphne detailed. "At night you can hear the water swishing around you, lulling you to sleep. It's quite relaxing."

"I simply can't wait," Sue grinned.

"You girls ready?" Hermione queried, heading toward the door.

Looking amused with them, Daphne reclined back onto her bed and bid, "I hope you have fun."

"I can't believe we're doing this!" Lisa squeaked. The three girls descended Ravenclaw Tower and spilled out onto the fifth floor corridor. Lisa companionably linked her arms through those of her companions on either side of her. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be as happy in Ravenclaw as in Hufflepuff!"

"Aww, Lisa!" Sue cooed.

"Do either of you smell something... funny?" Hermione wondered, her nose twitching. It was a musty scent, like someone's dirty underground basement.

"Now that you mention it…"

"It seems like it's coming from the balcony," Sue suggested, gesturing to the very one which Hermione had explored earlier in the day.

Peeking around the corner of the hidden alcove, the girls discovered Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini smoking cigarettes. If any of the boys were surprised at the sudden appearance of the group of Ravenclaw girls, their faces betrayed nothing.

"Well, well, look who it is!" Nott announced, waving to the three of them as he blew out a puff of smoke from his nostrils as well as his mouth. "One third of the Golden Trio and her replacement lackeys."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, "Not funny, Nott. Ten points from Gryffindor for smoking on school premises. Another ten from Ravenclaw from each of the other two of you, as well."

She would have loved to reprimand Malfoy further for partaking - he was a prefect after all - but she refrained.

Zabini threw his spent cigarette onto the ground and stomped it out. Malfoy exhaled a curl of smoke and looked anywhere but at Hermione. She, too, was determined not to make eye contact with him, still baffled by the earlier incident in front of the Ravenclaw guardian.

"Would've thought you'd have been glad we were doing something Muggle," Zabini suggested idly with the air of someone commenting on the weather to a stranger. His voice was unexpectedly soft, like the serrated edge of a feather.

Nott looked the girls up and down, grinning rakishly, "You ladies going somewhere? A party perhaps?"

Sue began to look impatient to depart; Lisa was openly staring at the boys like they were a band of magically appearing selkies.

"Didn't think you had it in you to leave your books behind, Granger. I'm impressed," Nott taunted, taking another long drag of his cigarette and purposefully blowing the smoke toward her.

"Why do you keep talking to me?" Hermione demanded, widening her stance and waving his smoke away. "It isn't as if we're _friends_ … I don't _like_ talking to you… a feeling I'm sure is mutual."

"Er, we'll go on ahead, Hermione, yeah?" Sue suggested, looking anxious to be away. "Catch us up when you're through here..."

"Nonsense, ladies… you look like you could use an escort," Nott protested, tossing his cigarette down and stomping it the same way Zabini had. "Come on, Blaise. Let's show these two the way to the Slytherin commons…"

They were gone before Hermione even had a moment to register what had happened. She glanced to her one remaining companion, whose cigarette was tucked into his downturned lips. She watched as he slowly inhaled the foul-smelling smoke… and when he exhaled, Hermione could not decide if he looked attractive or vile.

She blanched at her own thought. _Attractive?_

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Granger?" Malfoy queried softly.

She frowned at him. "I thought I asked you to put that out?"

Inhale. "Actually, all you did was take points for smoking on premises."

"Cigarettes are against the rules…"

Exhale. "I know."

"They are terrible for your health," she insisted.

"Again, I know."

"Don't you care that they're slowly killing you?" she demanded.

Inhale. "Not really."

Hermione stared at him. "But… why not?"

Exhale. Finished with the offending contraband, he ground the remainder out with the toe of his shoe. With a wave of his wand, he vanished the butts. "I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't. Since that puts me at an impasse, I might as well just do it."

She opened her mouth to speak, but could not think of an appropriate response.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and stepped toward her along the narrow balcony area. "Are you going to let me pass?"

Silently, she stepped aside. Despite the fact that there was now plenty of space for him to go around, he stopped in front of her. Her breath hitched embarrassingly as she asked, "Yes?"

"'Hurt without moving, poison without touching, bear truth and lies, not to be judged by size...'" he murmured. Residual cigarette smoke from his clothes and on his breath began to make her eyes water. "I've been thinking about it."

Hopeful, she prompted, "And?"

He shrugged. "I just wanted you to know."

"Oh." She was almost disappointed, though she was unsure what she would have wanted him to say.

Hermione stiffened as Malfoy reached his hand out and captured some of her hair between his fingers. She had left it long halfway-down for the party, Lisa's charm still keeping it miraculously soft, straight, and shining.

" _Huh_ ," was all he said before his hand dropped.

For some reason, this simple gesture had rendered Hermione about as tongue-tied as a third-year Neville Longbottom being questioned by an irate Professor Snape. She was no longer interested in a party, or seeing her friends. All she could think about were the words 'I did think about it' and a pair of blue-gray eyes.

He was about to depart without another word, but sensing his imminent escape, she blurted out, "I don't understand."

Malfoy stopped, his back to her still, "What don't you understand, Granger?"

"Any of it."

He turned partially to look at her from the side, "That might be a first."

Then, because it was the question she really wanted to know the answer to, she puzzled, "I don't understand why you were put in Ravenclaw. Why weren't you re-sorted into Slytherin? Others were put into their old Houses… why not you?"

He arched a pale eyebrow at her and responded simply, "Because I asked not to be."

Hermione could only stare as Malfoy retreated without a word, his footsteps dying away slowly, like the cigarette smell and her preconceptions of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we have the beginnings of some Dramione! True appreciation for I_was_BOTWP for beta'ing this chapter and helping to temper my inane rambling...
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left a comment. I love comments... who doesn't like to know someone is enjoying their fic? But I also appreciate the comments that leave me constructive criticism, which is essentially treasure.


	7. Mischief Managed

The Slytherin dungeon had the aura of a mysterious shipwreck. It was partially under the Black Lake and lit by greenish lamps that lent the whole place a celadon haze. The armchairs interspersed around the common room were also green, though the many low-backed couches were made of black leather. The walls were decorated with dark wood cupboards, almost as black as the sofas. On other sections of the walls were tapestries depicting the adventures of famous medieval Slytherins.

"The dormitories are behind the tapestries," Harry explained happily enough, brushing one aside to show Hermione the door, which was made of the same handsome, dark wood as the cupboards. He joked, "Slytherins apparently like to feel properly hidden in their little snake holes."

The enormous fireplace was made of black marble, streaked elegantly with long white marble fingers. The glow it cast upon the surrounding seven or eight feet was somehow cold. Tall glass structures like showy aquariums acted as twin pillars within the common room, but these were filled inexplicably with skulls. The end effect was rather grand, if somewhat grim.

In other words, it was what Hermione had expected, though perhaps not in so much detail.

She swallowed heavily, her earlier jovial mood having been replaced only minutes ago by one of consternation from her run in with Malfoy. Licking her lips, she realized Harry was waiting for her to say something now that he had given her the tour. "It's… well… it's very different from Gryffindor Tower, isn't it?"

"Pretty much the exact opposite," Harry agreed, and the look in his eyes made Hermione think he was likely reflecting back on the welcoming warmth of their home for six years.

In Gryffindor Tower, the walls were decorated with scarlet tapestries that depicted witches, wizards and a variety of animals. A dominating hearth stretching over nine feet lit much of the almost-circular room. Nooks or alcoves in the common area were often filled with squashy, red armchairs, which seemed to beckon you to sink into one. The wide windows looked out onto the expansive Hogwarts grounds.

Hermione sighed longingly. "Do you think we'll ever see it again?"

"Come on now, Hermione," Harry chided, tweaking her nose familiarly. "You're at a party. Try to act like it, hey?"

A tiny smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, and she allowed herself to be handed a drink. The Slytherin commons were filled with seventh- and eighth-year students from a variety of Houses, each clutching a cup and some already wobbling suspiciously or laughing loudly. The younger students all seemed to have been banished somehow.

At the heart of a group of merry eighth years was Neville Longbottom, his once-nervous, round face transformed into a Hollywood version of his former self thanks to a late, highly productive puberty. Now, having been solidly established as the badass that had publicly severed the head from Lord Voldemort's own snake with the Sword of Gryffindor, Neville was the height of cool.

"Hermione!" he called, gesturing for her to join the group. Joining the throng, they swapped niceties for a few minutes, but she soon moved on in order to allow him more time to make new friends. She had always preferred to people-watch at parties, anyway.

Mind somewhat preoccupied, she did not spend long in any one place. She saw that Lisa had joined up with a few of her fellow former-Hufflepuffs: Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Justin was in the midst of daring one of the girls – all three being single – to walk up and kiss Neville. The girls were wildly protesting this with much giggling and hitting of Justin on the arm. When Lisa called Hermione over to offer her opinion on the matter, she only grinned and excused herself, not wanted to be involved.

Finally, Hannah Abbott instituted herself as the boldest of the bunch by agreeing to do it (she had been re-sorted into Gryffindor, after all). Downing her drink for a little extra courage, she marched over to Neville with a purpose, seized his face, and began snogging him mercilessly.

From a several paces away, Hermione hid her smile as those nearby began to applaud and wolf-whistle. Neville eventually emerged, looking dazed but pleased, his ears red.

Sue, meanwhile, had been coerced into a drinking game with a group of Ravenclaws that – to Hermione's endless surprise and amusement – included Luna Lovegood. Luna and Neville had called their brief flame off months ago, the flicker of attraction only having lasted as long as the war. She seemed utterly unconcerned that her ex was snogging Hannah. Instead, as Hermione drifted over toward the group in an attempt at socializing, she discovered that Luna was dreamily suggesting wild alterations to the rules of game, which she claimed could drastically improve it.

" _There_ you are!" Ginny exclaimed, bounding over to Hermione's side and seizing her arm. "I thought you'd chickened out!"

She shook her head. "Seems like a good turnout."

"Oh, yes. Watch out for the punch though. I saw Seamus messing with it earlier."

Hermione hastily set her cup down on the nearest available surface. Her friend smirked at her.

"Where's Ron?" Hermione wondered. She had not seen him yet.

Ginny gestured to one of the corners of the common room where Ron, Harry, Seamus and Dean were having an animated conversation about Quidditch. Or at least, they seemed to be miming riding broomsticks, in any case… A strange look overtook Ron's face for a moment and he whacked the side of his head with the palm of his hand, sending a single persimmon tumbling from the opposite ear. Laughter erupted within the group of former Gryffindors.

Grinning with pride, Ginny prompted, "A good charm, that."

"It reminds me of second year when Ron tried to hex Malfoy and ended up burping up slugs instead." Hermione felt a vague annoyance that Malfoy was still in her head, cropping up into her conversations where she least wanted him to be. Her friend did not notice, instead cackling at that particular memory.

After a moment, Ginny had recovered and exclaimed, "Oh, Merlin… I meant to tell you. You need to come here on a Friday to hear the Bloody Baron's stories! Apparently every Friday he tells the Slytherins about some of the scandalous things that have happened at Hogwarts through the years he's been here. For instance, did you know there are _caves_ under the castle?"

Hermione cringed. If her last prefect patrol with Draco was any true indication, she had to explore those caves with him twice a week like clockwork. They were dark, though mercifully dry, unlike some of the hidden passages onto the grounds or into Hogsmeade. Lit only by wandlight, shadows fell oddly down there... even allowing Hermione to almost think Malfoy was handsome.

 _Almost_ , she reminded herself firmly, alarmed at her own train of thought.

"I just found out this year," Hermione told her friend, "Malfoy showed me them."

Ginny's eyes went as round as saucers, "You went down there with _Malfoy_? Why?"

"Prefects' rounds."

"Oh," Ginny said lamely. She almost looked disappointed, "I don't know what I was hoping for."

Hermione's eyebrows raised querulously.

"Well… you know what the caves are mostly known for?"

Hermione turned scarlet, "So you thought I went down there with Malfoy for that!"

Ginny smirked, "So you _do_ know."

Hermione rubbed her temples in exasperation, "Slytherin is really rubbing off on you."

Ginny shoved Hermione playfully and giggled as she said, "It would certainly be a fascinating scandal if it happened: you and Malfoy."

"Ginny," Hermione warned, her heart skipping a beat at the very thought. The image of Malfoy's slate gray eyes staring at her, his face inches from hers resurfaced. Her heart began to beat faster: what was that about? Had there been something worse in the punch than alcohol? Hermione was glad she had abandoned her cup.

"Sorry, sorry," Ginny apologized in earnest. Reverting to her previous subject, she repeated, "But you should hear the stories, Hermione. Come any Friday night, 'round ten."

"But that's curfew!"

"All the more exciting," Ginny countered, wiggling her eyebrows ridiculously. "Ron's coming to the next one. He already said he would."

"I'll think about it," she compromised.

Hermione spent another hour wandering around the Slytherin commons, occasionally joining in on conversations, but more often than not, just lost in thought. She had never been good at parties. Around eleven, she became unusually tired and reflected that, after all, it had been a long day.

Deciding to turn in for the night, she sought out Harry. "Thanks for inviting me."

"You can't be _leaving_?" he gaped, eyes glancing to his wristwatch. "It's early."

"Not so early," she reasoned sensibly.

Harry soon relented and offered her his invisibility cloak to get back to the tower, as it was a long way and some of the teachers were likely on patrol. She declined, but accepted his offer of the Marauder's Map instead.

Once outside the Slytherin common room, she breathed a sigh of relief. The air had been stuffy and claustrophobic with so many teenagers packed into one place in such high spirits. She glanced down the stone corridors by the dungeons and opened the map.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she murmured, tapping the worn parchment with her wand.

The hall ahead was clear, but a small dot labeled 'Argus Filch' was roaming the second floor she would have liked to use. Fortunately, there was an alternative route.

It was harder than it looked, navigating the dark halls and corridors of Hogwarts on one's own, all the while consulting the map. Two detours – the first to avoid Filch and second to skirt around Professor Buchanan – added nearly fifteen minutes to her trek.

Hermione found herself relieved to finally be stepping up the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower. She trudged to the top of the flight, only to be met by the eagle head guardian, who threw a riddle her way: "I am always there, some distance away. A place between land or sea and sky I lay. You may move toward me, yet distant I stay."

Folding the map up to better concentrate, Hermione picked apart the brain-bender for several minutes, wishing she were not so tired.

Eventually, it clicked. "The horizon is the answer."

"Indeed it is," the door-knocker agreed, allowing her admittance.

A quick glance around the hazy blue darkness of the common room was verification that no one was there; most of the older students were still at the party. With a yawn, Hermione took a step toward the stairs that would bring her to the eighth year girls' dormitory, but stopped short when she recalled the Marauder's Map in her hands.

Pulling it out, she unfolded it part of the way and tapped it with her wand, whispering, "Mischief managed."

As the aged brown ink siphoned away, she was very glad she had remembered to wipe the map in the empty common room rather than in her dormitory, in case Padma or Daphne should still be awake. Ascending her last staircase of the day, she was ready to succumb to the waiting comfort of sleep.

.

.

" _Unnghhh_ ," Ginny moaned again, clutching her head.

"I agree," Harry muttered, wincing as a couple of third years burst into loud laughter nearby.

Ron was chewing on a piece of plain, buttered toast like a dog chewing a bone. To an outsider, he would have seemed unaffected in comparison to his friends, but breakfast was Ron's favorite meal of the day and it was unlike him to settle only for toast when bangers and mash was an option.

"Why does it feel like I've been kicked in the head by a hippogriff?" Harry complained. He was a bit pale, his green eyes dull.

"Because Seamus spiked the punch," Hermione reminded him cheerily, spreading a generous amount of marmalade onto her own toast and tucking in happily. Her Herbology volume was propped open in front of her. "I guess he finally figured out how to turn water into rum. He's been trying to perfect that one since first year."

"Less talk, more sympathy," Ginny groaned.

Hermione spent all of Sunday getting that week's homework done. She went to bed early, reveling in the feel of a familiar routine.

.

.

Monday morning classes went smoothly. Ron had finally stopped spewing persimmons from his ears whenever he turned his head too quickly, which he considered a cause for celebration.

Still, Hermione was dreading what the evening might bring, as she would have prefect duties with Malfoy again. They had not spoken since Saturday when she caught him smoking on the hidden fifth floor balcony. Sure, he was in all of her classes except Defense, but he sat by Nott in many of them and ignored her completely.

Truly, Theodore Nott was more worrisome, as he kept flinging small objects at her or else spearing her with inappropriate looks. She tried her best to pretend they both did not exist, though it was difficult.

Word had gotten out that the prefects were planning a dance. Despite that Halloween was still several weeks away, it was already the subject on everyone's lips.

Perhaps the chatter caused Oliver Rivers to make it a point to ask Hermione to partner with him in Herbology that morning. It was pleasant to to work with someone who had carefully read the current textbook information beforehand. They playfully quizzed one another as they worked together to divest a sopophorous plant of its beans.

When they ran out of topics relating to Herbology, Hermione found herself telling him a dreadful dentist joke she had often heard her parents telling their clients when she was younger. Luckily, Oliver was a half-blood and she did not have to explain the concept of dentists to him, or the joke would have fallen dreadfully flat. Her eyes glittered as he laughed; none of her friends found her this humorous, so it was a novelty.

"I don't really know many good jokes," Oliver admitted, tossing some sopophorous beans into their flower pot. They had got a good harvest so far. "That's really more of my brother's forte. Although I do remember one – it's really bad – but since you like cats…"

Hermione raised her eyebrows expectantly, throwing her own beans into the flower pot as well.

"Okay, but it's not my fault if you end up in the Hospital Wing afterward with an ulcer… did you hear about the cat that ate an entire skein of yarn?"

"No…" she breathed, waiting.

"I heard she's having mittens," he finished lamely, grinning apologetically.

Hermione groaned good-naturedly. She made the mistake of looking up to see Nott miming her laughter and jerking his head toward Oliver while making a lewd gesture. Malfoy was glaring at his sopophorous plant as if it had personally offended him, head down.

Refusing to be cowed by the likes of Theodore Nott, Hermione accepted Oliver's offer to walk her to the Great Hall for dinner. Oliver even joined her and her friends for their evening meal, managing to hold his own in a conversation with Ginny about Quidditch, which was no small feat. Afterward, he headed off to join a few of his own friends in the library, but not before flashing Hermione another winning smile.

Ginny nudged her in the ribs, smirking.

After dinner, she returned to the common room with Padma, who babbled about the upcoming dance the entire time. With some time to kill before she had to patrol with Malfoy, she retrieved a book from her dormitory and set herself up for some quiet time on one of the comfortable couches in the common area. After about a half an hour, there was some commotion outside the entrance, which turned the heads of a few of the tower's occupants. For a moment, Hermione considered investigation (she was a prefect, after all), but when all soon became quiet again, she allowed her book to reabsorb her. In such a state, she did not even look up with the entry portal opened to admit someone, until...

"Hello, Hermione."

"Luna!" Hermione gasped in surprise at the sudden appearance of her dotty friend. Luna's hair was arranged in a pile resembling an anthill today, her radish earrings bobbing on her earlobes. "What are you doing in here?"

"Ron was looking for you," the other girl replied airily. "But he couldn't answer the riddle at the door."

"So that's what all that shouting was," Hermione realized. Ron was not stupid, but riddles were certainly not his strong suit. He thrived more in strategizing, which was hence the reason that he could roundly whip her at wizard's chess even though Hermione beat him out in grades.

"He's still outside," Luna continued, gazing around at the common room like she was greeting an old friend. "I answered the riddle for him, but he asked me to bring you outside instead. He didn't say 'please' though."

Hermione rose from her seat, imagining Ron grudgingly having to ask Luna for help. "Thank you. I'll go see what he wants."

Ron was peering out the window at the top of the landing when Hermione joined him. "Ron?"

"I remembered, Hermione," he told her without preamble.

"Sorry?"

"Remember at the Yule Ball, when I asked you to go with me, but you told me to remember to ask you first instead of as a last resort?" he queried pointedly.

Reddening, Hermione began, "Ron…"

"So here I am!" he concluded triumphantly. "I heard there was a Halloween dance and I remembered to ask you first."

"Ron, I… I've already agreed to go with someone else," she finished dully.

"Oh. Right."

"I'm sorry…" she said guiltily.

"It's alright," he insisted, though she did not believe him. "Should've known you wouldn't want to go with me after… after the summer… and we, well…"

Hermione turned an even deeper shade of magenta, at a loss for what to say. Her whirlwind romance with Ron had been brief but intense. Too intense. It had fizzled out before really picking up any steam, leaving only awkwardness as they both quickly realized that being romantic with one another was like being romantic with a sibling.

"I just want us to be friends," he implored pitifully. "Like we agreed."

"I do, too, Ron – I really do!" she declared. "We've been doing _so_ good, too…"

"Yeah," he grimaced. "Well, I'll be seeing you."

Then he was gone. Hermione answered a new riddle (thankfully a simple one, as her mind was uneasy), and shuffled back inside to return to the couch she had been occupying. The book she had been immersed in was still waiting for her; Luna, however, was waiting for her, too.

She expected Luna to say something, but the other witch only stared at her, not saying a word. Not wanting to keep up a staring contest, Hermione broke the uncomfortable eye contact and attempted to ignore the girl sitting next to her.

It became increasingly difficult to concentrate on the words before her when Luna began to hum tunelessly. Gritting her teeth, Hermione had no idea what was going on, and was about to say as much to her friend, when Luna stood up.

Keeping her head down, Hermione watched through her eyelashes as Luna approached the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw which stood by the stairs and reached out to touch the white marble hand with familiarity. A moment later - without even a backward glance at Hermione - she departed, several Ravenclaws watching her go with skeptic bemusement.

In a still-annoyed state of mind, Hermione saw Malfoy descend from the boys' dormitories and approach her. "Ready, Granger?"

Smothering a sigh, Hermione closed her book and nodded, "Let me put this away and then we'll go."

She took a moment upstairs to collect her thoughts, taking her time in stowing her book away. As if sensing her purpose, Crookshanks suddenly appeared, winding around her legs and ready for patrol.

"Good boy, Crooks," she crooned softly. " _Clever_ boy."

Scratching the cat's head fondly, Hermione headed in the direction of the stair. She said not another word to Malfoy as they exited the common room together, Crookshanks leading the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heaps of thankfulness to my fantastic beta, I_was_BOTWP, who eviscerated this chapter (her words, but accurate). I suspect alpha cred is also due here with how much got rearranged. Thank you!
> 
> I also appreciate everyone who left a comment. Your encouragement means more than you know.


	8. Like A Russian Doll

Spiraling down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower, the trio made an odd sight: Crookshanks went first with his tail held high, Hermione came next about ten paces behind, and Malfoy brought up the rear, hanging back like he did not want to be too close to either of them. He sauntered his way down each step, the fractals of light from the stained glass windows throwing strange shapes of color onto his pale hair and skin. Hermione glanced at her own hand trailing down the banister, finding it bathed alternately in greens, reds, and blues.

When she reached the bottom, she waited. Her companion seemed to be taking his time, oozing a stubborn nonchalance that was definitively Malfoy. Crookshanks sat patiently near her feet. Once he finally joined them, she queried, "Where would you like to head first?"

"This way," he answered, taking off in the same direction he had on their previous patrol. It seemed he had already established a routine.

They fell into step, quietude hovering awkwardly between them. For Hermione's part, she perceived he was being silent on purpose. Therefore, she was determined not to be the one to break it, deciding that if he wanted to spend the entire shift being ridiculous and taciturn, that was his issue.

They had already done half their patrol and were heading toward the dungeons when Draco finally iterated, "'Mischief managed'?"

Hermione stopped in her tracks, the color draining from her face. "What?"

_How could he possibly know about the Marauder's Map?_

"So it _does_ mean something."

Eyes narrowing, she attempted to smother her agitation. "Where did you hear that?"

"Saturday night, you came back to Ravenclaw Tower after curfew," he explained. "You were on your own, though you had a large parchment in your hand. I was sitting by the fire, but even though you glanced around, you didn't seem to see me. Then you whispered 'mischief managed' and went up to your room."

She knew he had seen it, because that was exactly what had happened on Saturday.

Hermione tried to think back, and realized she had not consulted the map at all before entering Ravenclaw Tower - otherwise, she would have noticed Malfoy's name in the common room and cleared the map in a more discreet location. Cursing her ineptitude, she demanded, "Why were you alone in the dark?"

"I was waiting," he answered simply.

"Waiting for what?"

"Nice deflection, Granger," Malfoy sneered. "It almost worked. I wanted to know what 'mischief managed' meant and you made it all about me. That was almost Slytherin of you. Unfortunately, it also confirmed that the phrase means something to you, or you would have simply answered outright to dismiss the conversation."

"Silly me," she retorted, "I was under the impression you _liked_ talking about you."

"Your impression was incorrect. I find talking about myself to be distinctly uninteresting."

"Please," Hermione snorted derisively. "If you didn't have your ego, your entire body would simply deflate."

His withering gaze caused Hermione to feel an embarrassing wobble in her knees, though she refused to give in to it. Instead, she stuck her nose in the air and waltzed ahead of him, leading the way down the cold, darkened corridors toward the dungeons.

When he caught back up to her, he hissed, "Do _not_ walk away from me when we are having a discussion, Granger!"

"Oh, were we talking?" she wondered airily, deciding that response would annoy him the most. She was not disappointed. "Here _I_ was thinking we would complete our patrol in tight-lipped reserve, speaking only when necessary. It's not as if I _enjoy_ doing rounds with you… A feeling, I am sure, is mutual."

"Fine, if you _must_ know, I was waiting up on Saturday to make sure you made it back from the party alright," he spat. "I was unaware that this was considered bad manners."

Hermione spluttered, "You what?"

"Was waiting up. To see if you made it back to the common room," he repeated slowly, as if speaking to someone of limited intellect. "I waited for Li and Turpin, as well. _They_ came in together sometime after midnight… rather intoxicated, from what I could tell. It's a miracle they made it up so many stairs without being discovered."

"Why didn't you… I don't know… announce yourself or something?"

His answer was bitingly sarcastic, "Did you _want_ to talk to me then? I wasn't aware you enjoyed my company so much. I'll be sure to set out tea and biscuits next time."

She took a deep breath and told him, "I am having a hard time picturing you doing something just because it's considered good manners."

In the darkened stone corridor stretching past the dungeons, the only light came from the flickering torches that were suspended in wrought iron brackets on the walls. Shadows crept into the crevices between the stones, as if to hide centuries worth of secrets between the cracks. Malfoy elicited a dark laugh, which when coupled with the austere environment, made Hermione struggle to hide a shiver that ran the length of her spine.

"Believe it or not, Granger, my parents groomed me thoroughly in proper conduct and politesse."

She feigned surprise. "And here I thought they spent most of their time instilling blood prejudice and a sense of unwarranted superiority into your skull."

Hermione knew she was picking a fight with Malfoy, simultaneously rising to his bait. While she had spent years chiding Ron for such behavior, it was hard to hear Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy mentioned – even in passing – and not relive the moments she had spent being tortured in their home only months ago. It put her immediately on the defense, grabbing at any makeshift shield (even one as weak as sarcasm) to protect that particular emotional wound. It was still fresh and recent; she was terrified any direct prodding would re-open it and reduce her to a gormless puddle.

She would never forget that night…

_Bellatrix cut her free of her bonds with her short, silver knife and a moment later, the crazed woman was dragging Hermione by her hair across the drawing room floor. There, in the middle of the room, she was subjected the witch's whims, which alternated between questioning her and torturing her under a prolonged Crucio._

_Time moved in ripples, so that Hermione was unsure how long she was subjected to her terror. Somehow, she managed to keep her wits about her enough to lie to the terrifying woman. The effort of keeping her head was overwhelming - so much so that she had to allow her body to betray her as a wet heat spread through her jeans. It was some time before she realized she had peed her pants._

_"Disgusting girl," Bellatrix spat into Hermione's ear. Her breath smelled foul, like her teeth were rotting in her head, "I should just give you to Greyback. He doesn't mind sullying himself with filth like you…"_

_Without warning, the witch's silver knife slashed into Hermione's forearm and she was screaming again..._

Later, she found out it had been a cursed blade. Therefore, the haphazard scrawl – 'Mudblood' – would be etched there forever in untidy letters like one might find wantonly carved into a tree to commemorate a brief summer romance. This scar had become the part of Hermione's body she hated the most.

"I suppose you are also under the impression that – being pureblood – we have some ancient set of rituals we are forced to comply with through social habituation," Draco fumed, snapping her back to the present. His hand was clenched around his wand, though he did not seem ready to use it. "Perhaps something involving arranged marriages, ritualistic self-harm, or blood magic…"

"I was thinking more along the lines of virgin sacrifice, actually," she retorted.

Malfoy actually growled then, a noise between an offensive snarl and a sound a wounded animal might make. But instead of shouting, he seemed to withdraw into himself, causing Hermione to wonder if perhaps he had some cleverly constructed shields of his own. Under his breath, he muttered, "Bloody Gryffindor brainwashing at its finest."

"Excuse me?" she challenged, ready to jump to her former House's defense.

He speared her with another glance of cold hauteur. "You are a dichotomy just dying to be explored, Granger."

Taken aback, she demanded, "How do you figure?"

"It's like you can't come to terms with your ideals and your actions… like you don't even know what side you're on. _Don't_ interrupt me," he cautioned, sensing her purpose. She shut her mouth where a protest was already forming. "On one hand, you're off spouting about equality, but then you turn around and insult purebloods for being what we are. You take the extra time to tame that bush on your head you call hair, but then you ruin your posture by hauling fifty million books around with you everywhere. There's such a thing as a weightless charm, by the way. You are insufferably bossy when it comes to following the rules, but then ignore them yourself whenever it suits you – like to attend a party after hours, for example."

Hermione was silent now, hands balled into fists and her face pink. They were still stopped in the middle of the deserted corridor that led toward the Potions classroom.

"Finally, the most perplexing of the bunch," Malfoy concluded, stuffing his fists into his trouser pockets, wand jutting out from the right side. "Just days ago, you tell me I should be careful of my word choices because of their ability to cause harm to others – something I have been perfectly aware of my entire life, believe it or not – but then tonight, your own tongue is _barbed_."

She felt oddly ashamed of this observation of herself, but also resistive, in large part because she was not willing to forgo her emotional defenses, especially around him.

"You never struck me as a hypocrite, Granger… so what gives?"

She was overwhelmed by a sudden lassitude, which warred against her rapidly increasing heartbeat. The stone of the walls quickly transformed into oppressive restraints, fighting to cave in on her. Feeling her breath hitch, Hermione could sense the onset of a panic attack coming, and wondered if it was in her power to stop it before Malfoy noticed.

As if by sixth sense, Crookshanks was suddenly at her feet and doing everything in his power to distract his mistress. She bent to scoop him up and buried her face into his fur, closing her eyes and willing herself calm again.

Following the war, panic attacks had become a commonplace occurrence for Hermione and for the next month after the Battle of Hogwarts, she suffered them daily. Things were much better now, but they still occasionally crept up on her.

It was several minutes before Hermione opened her eyes again. When she did, she was embarrassed to find that she had slid her back down the wall and was huddled against the cold stone, her feet splayed out before her on the floor like a child. She was clinging to Crookshanks tighter than was probably comfortable for the poor cat and released him.

Malfoy was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded before him, staring at her with an inscrutable expression. Hermione stood hastily and tried to look anywhere but at him. He said nothing.

Shuffling her feet awkwardly – because she knew her meltdown had been impossible to ignore – she finally muttered, "Shall we… finish the patrol, then?"

Pushing away from the wall, he regarded her a moment before drawling, "Perhaps the Hospital Wing would be a better…"

"No," she interrupted with finality.

His gray-blue eyes seemed to be scrutinizing her on a near-microscopic level, as if calculating her weaknesses. Eventually, he caved, "Very well. But you can't keep burying whatever that was, Granger. You need to learn to compartmentalize… or you'll end up like a Russian doll: built-up layers over layers, protecting nothing but an empty shell on the inside."

They finished the patrol in utter silence, just as they'd begun it. Hermione's mind was whirring, turning her companion's words over and inside-out. All in all, she was relieved to reach Ravenclaw Tower at the end of the night.

The eagle head door-knocker met them with another riddle: "I may only be given, never taken or bought."

She barely had time to think about the possible answers before Draco promptly responded, "Forgiveness."

"A wise deduction," the guardian complimented, swinging the door inward.

Without another word or even a glance, he swept inside. Hermione followed slowly, wondering if perhaps this time, the riddle was meant for her to think about.

.

.

The next morning was Tuesday and Hermione awoke early. All four of her roommates were still sleeping (Padma was snoring lightly), so she dressed quietly and padded into their adjacent bathroom to tidy herself up for an early breakfast.

The first thing she noticed when she glanced in the mirror was that Lisa's beauty charm had worn off. While it was frustrating to have to spend over ten minutes attempting to tame her incorrigible tangle, Hermione found she felt more like herself with a head full of unruly curls.

There were only eight other students and two faculty in the Great Hall when she made her way down, but to her delight she had received an early owl and her Alchemy textbook was waiting for her. After pouring some orange juice and helping herself to toast, she propped the book open and began to devour it:

_Most witches and wizards are already familiar with the concept that there are four elements of creation: air, water, fire, earth. To understand these archetypal forces in alchemical terms, it is necessary to discard these everyday ideas._

_The collective phenomena of the elements as they are generally known, are only the most basic physical expressions of their respective archetypes. It is the contrary action of these elements that keeps up the harmony and equilibrium of the mundane machinery of the universe. Through the virtue of celestial influences, they are able to produce physical manifestations of their basic nature both above and beneath the earth._

_The Polish alchemist, Sendivogius, wrote that each of the four common elements has at its center another deeper element. These are the four pillars of the world, evolving out of chaos at the beginning of time..._

It was in this state that Harry interrupted her from her reverie when he sat beside her at the Ravenclaw table over an hour later. The Great Hall was somewhat more full now.

"Trust me to find you here, reading a textbook at breakfast," Harry chuckled, loading up his plate with eggs and sausage.

"I'm behind!" she protested good-naturedly. "I didn't even know I would be taking this class and the required reading has only just arrived..."

"Yes, Merlin forbid you can't swallow the entire book before the start of term…" She shoved him playfully and he grinned back fondly. Chewing on a sausage speared on the end of his fork, he queried, "How was prefect patrol with Malfoy?"

An oddly guarded feeling ignited in Hermione's chest at the mention of the former-Slytherin. "I don't understand him."

"What has he done this time?"

She only shook her head, curls bouncing wildly with the motion.

Harry reasoned, "Well it is _Malfoy_ we're talking about…"

"I honestly am not sure why he got re-sorted into Ravenclaw," Hermione exhaled, slathering too much jam onto her toast in her mechanical inattentiveness. "He's clever, sure... but so _completely_ Slytherin…"

Harry shrugged, his eyes fixed on her toast as she brought it up to her mouth, "Maybe he wanted something a little different this year."

"He did tell me he asked the hat not to be put in his old House…"

"Malfoy said that?" Harry prompted, sitting up a little straighter.

"Yes. Why?" she queried, brow furrowing as she finally noticed she was eating more jam than toast. Setting about scraping half of it off onto a new piece, she added, "I'm sure it doesn't let you have that much sway over your placement, Harry."

"It did for me," he told her quietly, moving his eggs around his plate.

"I remember you saying the hat takes your opinion into account," she recalled. "But in the end, its decisions seem to be its own…"

"When I put the hat on the first time, it told me I would do well in Slytherin… that it would help me on my way to greatness," Harry revealed. "It wanted to place me there when I was eleven, but it only didn't because I asked it not to."

She chewed her lip. "So you think he really did ask… and the hat just…?"

"It's possible."

Hermione happened to glance up to see Daphne had arrived in the Great Hall at that moment. Her dorm-mate looked tempted to join her new friend, but hesitant to do so because of the added presence of Harry. Hermione waved at her to sit with them.

After glancing around as if to take stock of her witnesses, Daphne made her way over and sat opposite Hermione. "How long have you been up?"

"Oh, awhile," Hermione grinned. "Have you met Harry? Harry, Daphne."

"Didn't you once ask me if a family of woodchucks had made a nest in my hair?" Harry asked, a smile already tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Judging from the red tinge her cheeks took on at the accusation, Daphne had indeed made such a comment.

"Well it _is_ rather dreadfully messy," Hermione pointed out levelly.

"You're one to talk," Harry bantered happily. "If I've got woodchucks, you've definitely got something larger. A Blast-Ended Skrewt, maybe."

They both laughed then; Daphne stared at the pair of them like they had irrevocably lost their sanity. Malfoy sauntered in with Zabini and Nott, glanced once at Hermione, then sat as far away from her as possible. Daphne watched the entire exchange with a Slytherin's shrewdness.

"That was quite the look Draco gave you just now."

"Mmm," Hermione agreed, her mind preoccupied with their argument from the previous evening.

"He was calculating you."

" _Hmph_ ," she huffed.

"That's interesting, isn't it?"

Snapping back to reality, Hermione laughed, "Don't read into it please. Unless you can explain why he claimed he was waiting up on Saturday to be sure we all made it back from the party alright. As if he was…"

"He said what?" Harry questioned, surprised.

"Oh, yes," Daphne nodded, taking only a single croissant and gazing at it sadly. "That makes sense."

"Excuse me?" Hermione spluttered.

Turning her head to her new friend, Daphne blinked, "Draco always did that for the Slytherin girls. Whenever someone was planning to be out past curfew, he waited up to make sure they got back alright. If they were out too late, he went and made sure they were safe. Actually, he saved Pansy's arse twice by doing that – once from that awful Umbridge woman and another time from Derrick Bole. I guess Bole tried for more than Pans wanted one night and Draco had to hex him and remind him to keep his hands to himself."

Because this revelation did not compute with what she already knew about Draco Malfoy, Hermione could only stare at her roommate. Harry seemed to be just as thunderstruck.

"Blaise usually did it, too," Daphne added. "Though I know he's having a harder time reconciling himself to being in Ravenclaw than Draco is." Finally taking note of her companions' blank expressions, she queried, "Didn't any of the Gryffindor boys do that? I thought that was normal?"

Harry glanced swiftly at Hermione before replying, "Actually, we usually all snuck out together… and got caught together."

Daphne shook her head darkly and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, " _Gryffindors_ …"

Hermione glanced down the end of the table, where Malfoy sat with Zabini and Nott. She tried to imagine him staying up in the Slytherin commons simply to be a gentleman and make sure all the girls that had gone out made it back fine. Daphne had said he even hexed an older Slytherin for trying to take advantage of a girl Malfoy himself had deemed a slag. She recalled his words from their patrol the previous night: _Believe it or not, Granger, my parents groomed me thoroughly in proper conduct and politesse._

In light of this revelation, she could almost believe it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will begin to notice a steady trickle of "alchemy" making its way into this fic from here on out. This information is based on a very basic understanding of it by yours truly, tempered with fanciful embellishments of my own creation.
> 
> Beta love to I_was_BOTWP for helping me fix up chapter 8.


	9. Paper Bats

A week at Hogwarts had never seemed to drag out quite so long before. Hermione resolved to put the incident with Malfoy behind her by the time their Thursday patrol came around, determined to be overly polite to him instead of disparaging. Malfoy, it seemed, was content to do the same and only spoke to her when it was absolutely necessary. The two hours dragged by painfully, but at least they were without occurrence. That, Hermione decided, was a cause for celebration in itself.

Friday came like a sigh of relief. It was only Alchemy that morning, and Hermione found herself looking forward to the class. She arrived early.

Oliver slid into the seat beside her and took note of her textbook propped open. Flashing her a genuine smile, he joked, "Inhale that yet?"

Looking up from the book, Hermione brushed her bangs from her eyes and grinned, "Only halfway-inhaled, actually. I thought I would reserve a lung for breathing. You?"

"It seemed I didn't plan ahead nearly so well." He flicked his wand at his bookbag and his supplies floated out, neatly arranging themselves in front of him. "I almost didn't make it."

"I'm sure the school would have dedicated a park bench to you or something," Hermione answered seriously, though her eyes were smiling. "In memory of Oliver Rivers: a lesson in why you should not inhale your textbooks. How tragic."

Oliver laughed, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. "You're something else."

At that moment, Nott traipsed in and bumped his hip, _hard_ , into the table, jostling everything and nearly upsetting the inkwells. Hermione's textbook ended up in her lap.

"Whoops," he smirked, making his way to his seat at the table next to theirs and throwing his bag down. "How clumsy of me. It seems I was distracted by an uncomfortable amount of vomit-worthy flirting."

Coloring deeply, Hermione glared at Nott. Not for the first time, she wondered how he could have been chosen for Gryffindor. It was even more perplexing than Malfoy being sent to Ravenclaw. Before she could respond in any way to his goading, McGonagall made her way into the classroom, accompanied by Professor Babbling, who taught Ancient Runes.

"Good morning," she barked, to a smattering of responses. "I have invited Professor Babbling to speak about runic involvement in alchemy. Let's jump right in, shall we? Has everyone received their copies of the textbook?"

Everyone in the room nodded that they had.

"Excellent. I will assume you have all already read the reasons this subject was doomed to fail in the Muggle world, the chief of these being because it was based on a misunderstanding of chemistry and physics, coupled with an inability to bind those understandings with magic. It was, however, _correctly_ assumed that the world and everything in it are composed of the four basic archetypes and a collection of essential elements. Can anyone enlighten us as to the import of the work of Empedocles? Mr. Nott?"

Hermione lowered her ready hand and glanced in surprise at Theo, who tended not to answer questions in class if he could help it. Nott smirked, observing that she had taken note of him. "In the 400s BC, Empedocles discovered that all matter is comprised of four roots – those being the four elements."

"And the roots are?" McGonagall prompted, observing him over the rim of her spectacles.

"Well," Theo expanded, his self-assured smirk driving Hermione barmy in annoyance, "fire and air are considered outwardly reaching elements, while water and earth turn inward and downward. It is for this reason that many wizards find the elemental archetypes of earth and water easier to bend to their will: human beings naturally tend to go inward rather than outward."

Hermione stared; it had been nearly word-for-word how she would have explained it, herself.

"Nicely phrased, take five points for Gryffindor," McGonagall granted. Direct compliments from her were rare, so a few eyebrows raised around the room and even Hermione glanced once more at Nott. McGonagall either did not notice the slight disturbance of the room, or did not deign to acknowledge it. "Yes, Mr. Rivers?"

From beside Hermione, Oliver cleared his throat and ran a hand through his dark hair. "If I understood the assignment for the first half of the year, we are attempting to theorize a way in which we can harness the elemental archetypes which Nott mentioned, correct?"

"Yes, although with your current partners, you are not to attempt this yet." McGonagall looked so stern that Hermione felt herself sit up a little straighter as if she were being scrutinized. "The consequences of meddling with these elemental archetypes before you are ready to harness them, is no laughing matter. Some of your projects during second term may be able to open up these powers… however without the correct direction of energy, the breaking and creating of bonds is a dangerous business."

The kind of powers the Headmistress was implying about their course of study fascinated Hermione. They were not going to be exploring the murkier aspects of alchemy, but it was a wondrous thing that they were going to be examining the basics of an almost-lost art that had led to the creation of the legendary philosopher's stone…

_It's a shame Harry had been obliged to destroy that back in first year_ , she reflected. It would have made a fascinating study.

For a moment, Hermione allowed herself to indulge in an imaginative fancy of herself taking control of wind currents, ensconced in a veritable tornado that she, alone, controlled. She recalled Harry's retelling of the night he had accompanied Dumbledore into the seaside cave to retrieve the false horcrux. According to Harry, Dumbledore had called upon a fire tornado to banish the Inferi that guarded Voldemort's prize. If Hermione's deductions were correct, the former Headmaster had used his own brand of magic, which was built on alchemal influences, to create such a powerful combination of defense and offense. It certainly would explain how Dumbledore had come to be friendly with someone like the renowned alchemist, Nicholas Flamel.

_I love magic_ , she sighed inwardly. _So many possibilities…_

She was snapped from her reverie by a wad of paper being flung at her face while Professors McGonagall and Babbling were distracted. Hermione observed that Oliver was scowling at Nott from across the table.

Correctly deducing that it had been the former-Slytherin that had thrown it, Hermione called on her best impression of Malfoy and sneered nastily at Nott. It seemed to work because Malfoy, himself, elbowed his friend in the side and flashed her a quick smirk before turning his head to his work.

Had that been… approval?

Professor Babbling soon began her lecture about the role of runic mandalas in the harnessing of elemental archetypes. Once Nott's head was bent back down at his work, Hermione childishly stuck her tongue out at him. Oliver glanced sidelong at her and grinned.

Once class was over and Hermione began packing up her things, Theo purposefully knocked her table again on the way out the door. Her bag fell to the floor and was retrieved quickly by Malfoy, who was passing through as he followed his friend out. Lifting the bag as if it weighed no more than a feather, a surprised look stole over his features for a moment before he set it on her table.

"So… you did the weightless charm after all," he commented, shouldering his own bag. "It's honestly about time, Hermione."

She stared at his retreating form, even after it disappeared through the classroom door, as shocked as if he'd called her 'Voldemort.'

He had called her 'Hermione.'

Not Granger. _Hermione._

It actually sounded pretty nice when he said it.

.

.

The next day, Padma pleaded with her dorm-mates to help her with the planning of the Halloween dance decorations. While Lisa had initially protested ("It's over a month away!") and Daphne had teased her ("You must be really desperate if you're asking for _my_ help on decorating…"), Saturday morning found all five girls in the middle of their dormitory floor, poring over ideas.

Hermione had surreptitiously got ahold of some pastries from breakfast and had silently placed the entire plate of them near Daphne. She did not like how little her new friend had been eating lately, though they had both avoided speaking of Daphne's purging habit. It seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they keep the secret between them.

Padma sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against the end of her four-poster as she sifted through pages of scribbled notes in her own shorthand. Meanwhile Sue was nearby, making origami bats from black paper. Lisa was French braiding Hermione's wild hair, while Hermione chose the best charm to place on Sue's bats to make them fly about at regular intervals. Daphne - absentmindedly reaching for a cheese danish without realizing it - cast her own spell on one of the paper bats, causing it to turn orange.

"Done!" Lisa proclaimed proudly, pulling her hands back from Hermione's expertly braided head.

"Me too!" Hermione seconded as the entire collection of about twenty paper bats began to flap up toward the ceiling.

"Oh, I actually really like the orange, Daphne," Lisa complimented kindly.

Padma glanced up from her work at the room full of origami bats, including one orange one. "Me too! Do you think we can do two-thirds of them black and one-third of them orange?"

"For sure," Sue agreed.

"That's an awesome spell, Hermione," Padma praised. "How long do you think it will last?"

"In theory, at least five or six hours."

"Ooooh, I love your hair," Sue gushed, setting her wand down. Seconds later, her face fell, "Mine would never work."

"What do you mean?" asked Lisa.

Allowing her fingers to run through her shiny, black hair, she lamented, "It's too fine. It never stays in anything other than a ponytail."

"But... _magic._ Let me try?" Lisa smiled, holding her wand aloft. A moment later, she was sitting behind Sue to complete a similar hairstyle.

Hermione turned to Daphne, "Does it look alright?"

"It's great," Daphne confirmed, handing over a small compact mirror so she could look.

Hermione had to admit, she liked this look a lot better than the straightening charm. While her hair had been manageable and shiny when it was straightened, it also did not feel like it belonged to her.

"Well that's the bats all settled," Padma mused, making a check mark on her list and looking thoughtful. "How many do you think you could make, Sue?"

"A couple hundred between now and then," she answered. With the help of a little spellwork, Lisa was making quick work of Sue's braids. "They aren't difficult, really."

The girls spent another forty minutes lazily discussing decorations. Hermione suggested asking Hagrid to grow his enormous pumpkins for the Great Hall again and Padma readily agreed. Having not had a good chance to visit Hagrid yet this year, Hermione offered to put the question to him. She figured it would be a good excuse for her, Harry, and Ron to get together for a visit, just like old times…

"Ta da!" Lisa announced, having finished her roommate's braids.

"What!" Sue cried in disbelief, scrambling to the nearest mirror. She gaped, "How...?"

Hermione could not remember ever having done anything like this: sitting in her dormitory with the other girls and just… being girls. When she'd been in Gryffindor, Lavender and Parvati had been best friends, often excluding her from their conversations. Whenever the other two girls had included her, Hermione had lost interest rather quickly, as the topics often seemed to revolve around boys, divination, or make-up, none of which Hermione was much invested in. Ginny did not really do things like this either, preferring to be racing around on a broomstick rather than braiding someone else's hair.

"So, Hermione," Padma leaned in with a grin. "I hear you're going with Oliver Rivers to the dance…"

"Yes."

"Who asked who?"

Ah, so she was going to be _grilled._ "He asked me."

Sue's grin spread and she wrenched her eyes away from the mirror to sigh dreamily, "To think it was _me_ that introduced you. Invite me to the wedding, will you?"

"Sue!" Hermione protested.

The other girls laughed and Padma offered up, "I'm going with Anthony Goldstein. He asked me yesterday."

"Oh, I don't have a date yet…" Lisa admitted a little sadly.

"Me either," Sue chimed in solidarity.

They all turned expectantly to Daphne. The former Slytherin cleared her throat and informed them, "Erm, I'm going with Blaise Zabini… as friends."

" _Merlin_!" Sue exclaimed.

"Wow," Lisa breathed.

Daphne looked confused for a moment, "What?"

"Oh nothing," Sue said airily, with a wave of her hand. "Just that he is _gorgeous,_ in case you haven't noticed."

"I think everyone has noticed!" Padma laughed, raising a suggestive eyebrow. "Ravenclaw blue-and-bronze suits him."

Hermione thought about Blaise Zabini, and decided she could objectively admit that he was certainly better looking than most of the wizards in their year. Practically defining the phrase 'tall, dark, and handsome', he was a stark contrast to Malfoy. Draco reminded her of moonlight, all cool grace, moving through the world with aristocratic ease...

…and he had called her _Hermione…_

"Earth to Hermione?" Lisa was waving a hand in front of her face.

"Sorry," she apologized.

"I'm starving," Sue complained. "Is it lunch yet?"

With a jolt, Hermione realized they had been in the dormitory since breakfast, hours ago. "Shockingly, yes."

The five girls headed down to the Great Hall and were making their way to the Ravenclaw table when a red-haired tornado slammed into Hermione's side and screeched, "You didn't come!"

" _Ow,_ Ginny," Hermione complained, rubbing her bruised ribs.

"I invited you to come down to the Slytherin dorms last night to hear the Bloody Baron's stories, and _you didn't come_ ," Ginny insisted, steering her friend away toward the Gryffindor table where Harry, Ron and Luna were already having lunch.

Hermione looked over her shoulder as she was led away and mouthed "Sorry!" at her dorm-mates. It seemed Daphne had been accosted by Millicent Bulstrode in a similar manner, so Padma, Lisa and Sue joined up with Parvati.

"It was after curfew," Hermione explained to her friend.

"That didn't stop you for the party!"

"Yes, well, I've wondered if that wasn't a bad idea in hindsight, too…"

"For Agrippa's sake, Hermione, you're incorrigible…"

"I'm a prefect," she insisted as they approached the table.

"Hi, Hermione," Luna greeted dreamily. "I like your hair. The braids look like the summer plumage of a mature fwooper."

Ron, whose spoon was halfway to his mouth, stared at Luna. "Is that… a compliment… or…?"

"Oh, yes," she replied simply, turning back to her pudding.

With some sadness, Hermione noticed Ron was not meeting her eye. This was something he had been doing all week, ever since she told him she would be attending the Halloween dance with someone else. It seemed Ron was unable to get over this second rejection very easily. Focusing rather intently on his soup, he muttered darkly, "Ditching us for the eagles a lot these days, Hermione…"

"For heaven's sake, Ronald, I'm a Ravenclaw now, of course I have been spending time with my house-mates."

"Yeah, but dorms and classes aren't enough? You have to ditch us during the Baron's thing… and just hanging out?"

"You can't begrudge me making new friends," she protested, growing infuriated when he would not even look at her as he argued. "Don't pretend the whole point of the re-sorting wasn't to make new friends and forge new alliances."

Ron grit his teeth and turned slightly red, though he seemed to have successfully bit back whatever comment he wanted to say.

"Is this about the fact that I already had a date to the dance?" she demanded shrewdly.

Ron colored even deeper, staring exclusively at the table now. "Of course not. It just seems like you're forsaking us a lot for your new Ravenclaw friends…"

"Yeah, well, you all know someone in your new House, don't you? Harry has Ginny and Dean, while you have Seamus," Hermione pointed out. "I am – quite literally – the _only_ Gryffindor from our year that's now living in Ravenclaw Tower. I had never even met two of my dorm-mates at the start of term and one of the others disliked me for being Muggle-born. Forgive me if that doesn't seem like a fun way to spend my year…"

"We aren't trying to beat up on you," Ginny soothed, jumping in as she realized Ron was blundering through the conversation by butchering the real point. "But why didn't you come last night? You could have spent a good time with us."

"I haven't really felt a lot like myself ever since the re-sorting. It's messing with my head more than I thought it would," she admitted. Hermione thought of Malfoy's words on their prefect patrol: _You never struck me as a hypocrite, Granger… so what gives?_ Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she was not really sure if she was speaking to him or to her friends, when she explained, "I guess I just decided to stop being a hypocrite. I am a prefect; I'm supposed to be adhering staunchly to the rules, setting an example. The war has changed me – changed us all – but it shouldn't be able to have that much sway. It shouldn't cause me to lose who I am…"

Luna, who had been relatively engrossed in her pudding until that moment, spoke up, "It's how we choose to carry the past that affects us now."

"That's… very true," Hermione agreed. It was easy to forget, at times, how wise and insightful Luna could be.

"You know we love you, right?" Ginny queried, raising a rust-colored eyebrow at her friend, as if challenging her to argue the point. "That's the only reason we're harping on you…"

Harry nodded, "It's not because we're really mad, it's just that we're selfish and we miss you."

Smiling, Hermione leaned over to hug him, then Ginny. Ron and Luna were sitting on the opposite side of the table, which provided a good excuse for Hermione not to embrace them, too (Ron still was not meeting her eye and Luna had floated back into the murky depths of her own imagination). "I think we're due for a visit to Hagrid's, don't you think?" she suggested. "Just like old times?"

"I think that sounds perfect," Harry decided, grinning at her. "We can go after lunch. Maybe this year, he'll be raising something even more dangerous than the usual…"

"Like a nundu," Ginny suggested cheekily.

"Or a manticore," Hermione added, exasperated but smiling.

Ron gave a weak chuckle and finally lifted his head up to offer Hermione a half-smile. "Let's not even joke about that…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Begin Rant) One of my biggest pet peeves about a lot of Dramione fics is that there tends to be a lot of Ron-bashing. Maybe I'm in the minority here, but I actually like Ron. I just don't like him with Hermione. He isn't perfect - but then, none of JKR's characters are. That's why we love them so much! So, just a warning... you will not be getting any Ron-basing out of me. Mwah! (End Rant)
> 
> I totally appreciate anyone who took the time to leave me a lovely, lovely comment. I love hearing what you have to say... and comments totally shape the fic, especially if something about it is bothering you (because then I can try to fix it, or explain my reasoning better).
> 
> Bucketfuls of shiny, glittery love and appreciation to the lovely I_was_BOTWP, who beta'd this chapter. Also, appreciative shout-out to SaintDionysus for setting me straight about how difficult it really is to braid Asian hair. lol


	10. Befriending Unicorns

**** Hagrid was beyond pleased when Harry, Ron and Hermione knocked on his front door late that afternoon. Fang the boarhound was even more delighted - his excited barks boomed onto the lawn before he even caught a glimpse of them.

"Took yeh long enough!"

"Sorry, Hagrid," Ron apologized as he fended off Fang, who nearly knocked him over in slobbery greeting. "It's been a weird couple weeks back, what with not being here last year and with the re-sorting..."

"That's no excuse though," Harry said quickly, seating himself in one of the enormous wooden chairs around the equally oversized kitchen table.

Hagrid set about making them tea in a chipped kettle and served them some of his famous rock cakes (they did not touch these, having too much experience with Hagrid's cooking). "I count meself lucky. After las' year, I didn't think we'd ever all be sittin' here again. Can' tell yeh when I thought when yeh showed up in the forest las' May, Harry…"

Hagrid was one of the few the trio felt they could share the full story of Voldemort's overthrow with. He was a great audience – shocked and impressed in all the correct places – and he made sure to keep them supplied with tea. It took almost an hour to explain everything and to answer his questions.

Once the tale-telling was over, he clapped Harry on the shoulder fondly, nearly sending him reeling from his seat, and proclaimed, "I always knew yeh'd do well. Now look at you three: saviors of the wizardin' world! Who'd have guessed, eh?"

_ Who, indeed? _ Hermione silently agreed, glancing around at the four of them. They had sat in this very same arrangement as first years, with Hagrid serving them the same sort of tea… but how many things had changed...

Remembering her promise to Padma, Hermione asked Hagrid if he would consider growing his enormous pumpkins for the Halloween dance. He readily agreed and, that accomplished, the four of them fell into the comfortable kind of conversation that can only be obtained after several years' acquaintance. Ron even seemed to forget he was supposed to be upset with Hermione and passed the milk for her tea without her having to ask, earning him a smile.

"Oh! I meant ter tell yeh! Want ter see what I've got fer Care o' Magical Creatures?"

Ron groaned and Hermione looked nervous. Harry only laughed noncommittally.

"Nothin' like that," Hagrid assured them, grinning broadly. "Nah… a bit borin' truth be told… but I reckon yeh'll like 'em..."

Emboldened by the fact that Hagrid had deemed whatever it was to be 'boring', they allowed themselves to be led outside. The four of them followed the edge of the forest for a bit until they neared the Black Lake. Ron balked for a moment when Hagrid pushed into the trees, but reluctantly followed when he noticed his friends did not hesitate.

Hidden within a copse of thick trees was a large paddock dappled with sunlight filtering through the canopy above. Within the pen was…

"Unicorns!" Hermione cried, delighted. She recalled studying them back in fourth year, but had not seen one since. There were two inside the pen and upon noticing they had visitors, the beautiful creatures began a cautious approach. "How did you get them?"

"Professor Babbling helped me," Hagrid answered, rummaging through the many pockets on his moleskin jacket to produce some sugar cubes. "Nice lady, Bathsheda is. Very in'erested in magical creatures. They prefer a woman's touch, see? Wanted ter show 'em to her Ancient Runes classes and I figured I'd save 'em fer the fourth years, since they're due ter study 'em this year."

"Ooh, that makes sense. Unicorns are essential in studying runic numbers," Hermione supplied, gazing keenly at the beautiful silvery creatures. She accepted the handful of sugar cubes from Hagrid. "They represent the number one."

"I think that's wha' she said," Hagrid agreed, looking thoughtful.

"How can a creature represent a number?" Ron wanted to know.

"It's because they have a singular horn," Hermione explained. "Just like how a graphorn's dual horns represent the number two, and a runespoor represents the number three because of its three heads. All numbers have a corresponding magical creature in runic scripture."

Harry and Ron remained skeptical, having never studied runes themselves. Disentangling herself from further explanations (she had learned long ago that sometimes Harry and Ron only asked for the sake of asking), Hermione was delighted when she was able to approach the unicorns, patting their noses fondly and feeding them each a few lumps of sugar.

After twenty minutes or so, Ron declared it was time to head back up to the castle, as dinner would be starting soon. The trio said their goodbyes to Hagrid, vowing to visit again soon.

.

.

That evening, Hermione could not sleep. Her roommates had stayed up late, gossiping and chattering before drifting off slowly, one by one. She tried reading, which usually worked, but found she was not attending the sentences of her text very well. Lying on her stomach with the hangings gathered around her bed for privacy, she decided to try a different strategy and cast a quick  _ Muffliato _ before pulling out the Marauder's Map from her pillowcase.

Smoothing out a worn crease that seemed to have been put there some time ago, she unfolded the enormous parchment and tapped it with her wand. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

From where her wand tip rested, ink blossomed outward, curling itself into the lines and shapes that made up the anatomy of Hogwarts castle. Hermione had never had the opportunity to really observe the map before; more often than not, her exposure to it had occurred when Harry was directly in the midst of some rule-breaking, or when someone's safety was at stake.

_ It's ingenious magic, really _ , she thought, running her fingers across the aged parchment. Her eyes darted up toward Gryffindor Tower in longing, discovering that Neville and Hannah's labeled dots were practically on top of one another in the common room. It seemed likely they were engaging in some enthusiastic snogging.

Eyes flickering downward to the Hufflepuff dormitories, she discovered Ron was also in his common room, across from Seamus, perhaps tied up in a game of Exploding Snap or wizard's chess, judging from the stationary nature of their dots.

Most of the Slytherins were in bed already, Harry included, although Ginny's marker seemed to be bouncing around her dormitory with two others and Hermione wondered if the youngest Weasley hadn’t instigated one of her legendary pillow fights. It seemed presumable. Hermione had been on the receiving end of a pillow to the face on more than one occasion.

Eyes flicking upward to Ravenclaw Tower, Hermione located her own dot right where it should be on her bed in her dormitory. Lisa, Padma, Sue and Daphne's markers were all in their beds too, just as they ought to be. Glancing over at the boys' dormitory, she took note of the three stationary dots: Blaise Zabini, Oliver Rivers, and Ernie Macmillan.

Her brow furrowed,  _ But where is Malfoy? _

Frowning, her gaze moved to examine the common room. He was not in Ravenclaw Tower, or in any of the other dormitories. It became quite the hunt, searching for him on the map: he was vacant from the classrooms, the kitchens, the library, and all of the main corridors. It was not until Hermione had really begun combing all the tiny passages and hidden rooms that she was able to finally locate him.

He was alone… but where? It appeared to be the tunnel off one of the dungeons they patrolled together during their twice-weekly prefect duties.

_ What on earth is he doing down there? _ she wondered, her frown deepening.

It was an internal conundrum: she had resolved to follow the school rules and model the role of an exemplary prefect, as she was expected to do… however, she was also  _ maddeningly _ curious what Malfoy was up to - out of bounds, after hours, and solitary.

Before she even realized she had made the decision, Hermione was pulling on her jeans and a jumper. Peeking out from the hangings of her four-poster, she was relieved to find the other girls' beds were ensconced in curtains of privacy, too.

Glancing at the map for reference, she noted that the common room was empty but for two small dots in the Stacks, apart from the main common area.

Quiet as a creeping bowtruckle, Hermione cast a disillusionment charm on herself, consulting the map often in her descent, just to be sure Malfoy would still be where the map promised he was. He had not moved, except to occasionally pace. With magic and map at her disposal, Hermione soon found herself wending her way through the dark corridors of the castle's dungeons.

She reached the narrow, wooden door of the chamber that hid the entrance to the Quidditch pitch passage. Taking care to stow the map secretly this time ("Mischief managed!"), she lifted the metal latch of the door. Hermione's gaze shifted immediately to the back of the room where she knew the cave passage was disguised. She pushed the tapestry to the side and checked that her wand was at the ready, just in case.

"Who's there?" Malfoy's voice demanded. The wafting smell of cigarettes stung her eyes.

"It's only me," she answered quietly, hoping he would not be startled into hexing her.

In the darkness, Hermione could see Draco's pale face squinting to try to make out the shape of whoever was barging in on his private repose. He was mostly outside, the looming shapes of the Quidditch stands and goalposts partially visible in the distant darkness. A moment later, she recalled her disillusionment charm and cast the counter-spell, revealing herself.

Malfoy's eyebrows raised at the sudden sight of her. They stared at one another in silence for a moment while he expelled a cloud of smoke into the air. Hermione was reminded of a dragon exhaling through its nostrils.

"What are you doing down here?” she questioned. “You realize you're breaking curfew?"

He was mute a moment longer, preoccupied with pressing the cigarette to his lips. "I used to come here often, and tonight, I needed some peace and quiet. That, and a smoke."

"You're a  _ prefect _ ," she reminded him bossily, "in case you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten."

"Students  _ aren't _ to wander the corridors at night," she maintained. "Not even prefects."

"You did, to come here," he pointed out. "How is it you found me, anyway?"

"I have my methods," she answered coolly.

He shrugged, "I guess I don't mind that you know I come here."

"But…"

"Granger, when you get your panic attacks, what do you do?" he interrupted, surveying her with a severe gaze. "You find a way to unwind until it stops. This – me being here – is the same idea."

With a measure of reluctant disappointment that he had reverted back to her surname, Hermione eyed him critically, "Are you saying you've had a panic attack?"

"I don't get them like you do." Respiring a thick nimbus of smoke, he revealed, "I have anxiety. I come here because it soothes me."

Hermione's mouth clamped shut and she felt a breeze lift up the ends of her hair, blowing it into her face. Draco was gazing, glassy-eyed, over the darkened Quidditch pitch, almost like he had forgotten she was there.

“Do you miss it?” she asked, noting the draw of his eye.

Snapping back into the present, Draco flicked his spent cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.  Hermione noticed there were two other butts there already, and decided that he had clearly been there awhile. Quietly, he countered, “Are we sharing our feelings now, Granger?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she replied, “You played for Slytherin for a few years, if my memory serves correct. I was merely wondering if you chose this particular location with that in mind.”

He shrugged.

With a sigh, she decided she would not be getting any answers from him tonight. “We should be getting back to the tower.”

Seeming not to hear her, he reached for his packet of cigarettes and selected another.

She opened her mouth to protest, “Malfoy…”

“Everyone knows where my family’s loyalties were during the war," he interrupted, then expanded, “I didn’t think Ravenclaw would want me on their team.”

She frowned but did not know what to say. Judging from the irreverent whispers that followed his name whenever it was spoken by any of her classmates, she suspected that he was correct.

Malfoy did not seem to expect her to reply, however. “I don't wish for my family’s stigma to be attached to me for my entire life, you know. I know what people say about me, and they’re not wrong. Occasionally, though... keeping up the mask of indifference grows tiresome."

Hermione blinked in surprise at this volunteered information. Fascinated, she pressed, "What is it you would want to be known for instead?"

He was gazing up at the sky. The stars twinkled distantly, unconcerned with the pressures of humanity. With a sigh, he admitted, "I don't know. I think that's the only reason I came back this year. It bought me some time before I have to make any decisions, and it was another school year out of my house and away from my parents… to distance myself from everything somewhat. At least for now."

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Hermione hesitantly contributed, "My mother once told me that falling apart is nothing more than an opportunity to rebuild yourself the way you wish you had been all along."

"I don't  _ want _ to be what I wish I had been all along," he clarified blandly, shuddering as he lit his cigarette.

"No one is defined by the worst thing they've ever done," Hermione insisted, then tentatively added, "Draco."

His name felt odd on her lips, almost taboo.

He noticed. Malfoy's head swiveled to look at his companion, his eyebrows high and the curling smoke of his cigarette obscuring some of his face. He did not comment on her use of his given name.

Feeling compelled to explain herself somewhat, Hermione expounded, "I've had panic attacks ever since the war. The first one happened a full week after Voldemort was defeated…"

Draco hissed in displeasure at the name.

Unfazed, she continued, "I had to obliviate my parents during the war to protect them. I instilled them with false identities and they moved to Australia, unaware they'd ever had a daughter. My first meltdown occurred when I thought I might not be able to restore their memories – and that if I did succeed, they would want nothing more to do with me for overpowering them in such a backhanded manner.

"I  _ was _ able to give them their memories back… but they were upset with me. It was the first time I've ever seen my father cry…" She swallowed heavily but choked on smoke. She waved some of the foul nebula he was creating away from her face. "I had panic attacks almost every night after that while I was living at home. They… they helped my parents to understand why I had done what I did… what I'd been up against. But even after I'd won back their trust in me, the attacks continued."

"It must be difficult to have a power over your parents they can never hope to wield," Draco conceded, leaning against the side of the wall and watching her intently.

"I'm not sure why I'm telling you this," she breathed, glancing out at the dark Quidditch pitch beyond, then back at him. "It doesn't make sense. We were never friends... far from it."

He shrugged, "I understand what it's like to have the war change the fundamentals of who I am. I'd wager we're not alone in that respect."

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she queried, "Why are you being so… nice?"

Draco smirked, "Because it confuses the hell out of you."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but did not reply. Somehow, his answer made sense. She would not have known what to do if he had started spouting off about rainbows and butterflies.

They remained silent for a few minutes longer. A slight breeze that kicked up from across the pitch, causing Hermione to shiver. Reaching for her wand, she conjured some of the bluebell flames she often used around Harry and Ron. They flickered softly in the semi-darkness and transformed the gray cloud of smoke Draco was making into a blue haze.

Again he asked, "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

A shiver ran up her spine that had nothing to do with the chill.

"I wanted to know why you were out of bed at this hour," she replied truthfully, pulling her jumper around her tighter. "It seemed suspicious."

"You still haven't answered how you knew I'd be here in the first place," he reminded her, finishing his cigarette again and stomping it out.

"You already know one of my secrets. I'm not sure I trust you with a second."

"Alright then." Though she observed a shadow pass across his eyes, the answer seemed good enough for him. Perhaps it was the Slytherin in him that understood her logic, or perhaps he was beyond caring. He vanished the cigarette butts on the ground with a wave of his wand and jerked his head in the direction of the passage that led back into the dungeon. "Ready to head back up to the tower?"

They climbed the staircases in silence. With the help of disillusionment charms, they only had to hide once on their trek back up to the common room. It was a close thing – but they concealed themselves behind a tapestry just in time for Peeves to bounce by unaware, chortling to himself over some practical joke he seemed to have executed upon an unsuspecting Filch.

It was stiflingly warm, Hermione decided, pressed up against Draco for several minutes; this justified the redness that had crept up her neck and cheeks at his close proximity. There was no airflow whatsoever behind that tapestry... especially unfortunate, considering the cloying smell of cigarettes that clung to his clothing. Once Peeves had moved away, they disentangled themselves and continued upstairs in embarrassed silence. 

The eagle head doorknocker met them at the entrance to the common room, as always: "I never was, am always to be… no one ever saw me, nor ever will… and yet I am the confidence of all…"

"Erm," Hermione murmured, for once at a loss.

Malfoy looked stumped as well. "Can you repeat that?"

The doorknocker did, but they both remained clueless. For several minutes, the two of them shot answers back at the guardian, but were continually unsuccessful.

Nervously twisting a curl around her finger, Hermione fretted, "At this rate, we’ll still be out here tomorrow morning..."

The door swung inward.

She blinked in surprise, while Draco chuckled softly, " _ Tomorrow _ . Of course. Never was, am always to be… none ever saw me, or ever will… but acts as confidence to all - that they will continue to live and breathe."

It seemed so obvious now that he said it. Hermione shuffled her feet. Neither of them moved.

"After you," he drawled, lazily gesturing toward the open entrance.

She offered him an ironic half-smile. "Until tomorrow."

_ Really _ , she thought as she separated off from him to retreat back to her bed,  _ other than the cigarette habit, he isn't so bad when he’s not being an unmitigated arse... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left me comments - reading them is lovely, and they make me smile. Brief disclaimer: I did not use a beta on this chapter, so all mistakes are my own.


	11. The Stacks

_ She was hurtling through an ambiguous mist, propelled by some unseen force. When she gazed down, Hermione realized she was on the back of a thestral, the creature's skeletal body rising and falling along with its great wingbeats. A tickle began in the back of her throat and she felt herself begin to cough uncontrollably, her entire body wracked with the action. Unable to control her fit, she lost her balance and fell from the thestral's back. She screamed, and she coughed, and she screamed some more as she plummeted through the sky, only no sound at all issued from her mouth… _

_ With a strangely soft 'thwump', she came to rest on an oddly familiar floor... the sickeningly recognizable black-and-white tiled drawing room of Malfoy, the center sumptuously carpeted in Turkish rugs. Her stomach churned with memory… _

_ Without warning, Bellatrix Lestrange was on top of her. "What else have you taken from my vault, filthy Mudblood?" _

_ "Nothing!" _

_ "LIAR!" Bellatrix screamed, raising her silver knife threateningly. "I know you're lying!" _

_ "I'm not!" Hermione pleaded. "Please…" _

_ "Silence, filth. Look about you. I can SEE that you're lying!" _

_ The drawing room shifted and became the Lestrange's vault at Gringotts, piled high with gold and treasure. Bellatrix was lifted away from her violent interrogation by a swarm of Padma's origami bats, some of them black, some of them orange. The whole lot of them disappeared through the ceiling… _

_ The items in the vault were multiplying and expanding, threatening to drown Hermione in Lestrange family heirlooms. Meanwhile, she could see Hufflepuff's golden cup on a high shelf, but it was just out of her reach. She looked around desperately for Harry and Ron, but they were nowhere to be found. She was alone... _

_ It was all up to her. _

_ There was a very real sense of desperation fluttering in her ribcage as she struggled. She must get to the cup... needed only to grasp its handle… but no matter how hard she fought, it remained just beyond an arm's reach... _

_ Suddenly, the piles of multiplying treasure became white soap-suds dotted with jasmine flowers. Hermione was in the prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor. Gasping at the abrupt change in location, she took a few moments to allow her heart to slow down. A moment later, she realized she was not alone. Body obscured by clouds of soapy foam, Theodore Nott was lazily relaxing at the other side of the tub, his arms pressed up on the ledges to keep him afloat... _

_ "Just seeing what you get up to when no one is around, Granger," he sneered, producing an enormous encyclopedia from nowhere. "Here, I brought you some light reading." _

_ He tossed her the book and she managed to catch it before it hit the water, but because of its sheer size, the weight of it dragged her down… _

_ She was underwater, but not in the tub any longer. Instead, she was in the Forbidden Forest, which was completely submerged as if it had sprouted up from the ocean floor. Vaguely empyrean, the forest appeared exactly as it did in life but for the rippling water swishing around the trees and bushes. Ahead, Hermione spied the unicorns in their paddock, exactly as Hagrid had left them. Except this time, Draco Malfoy was patting one on its long nose… _

_ Spotting Hermione, he held out a hand for her to join him. To her endless surprise, she took it. He explained, "Unicorns, Granger… according to numerous texts, the horns are phallic symbols. That's why they prefer the company of virgins…" _

Hermione's eyes snapped open as if she had been shaken awake, the dream swiftly trickling out of memory. There was an insistent, throbbing heat between her legs that embarrassed her, despite that no one could possibly know about it. She wondered if the persistent urge was strong enough for her to want to do something about it.

It was not an unfamiliar sensation, though it did not occur terribly often. She remembered the first time it had happened: it had been fourth year, on a weekend day after she had been kissing Viktor Krum somewhat extensively in private. This was after the Yule Ball, but before the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. After spending several hours together, Viktor had been obliged to return to the Durmstrang ship and Hermione had trudged up to Gryffindor Tower, only to find her dormitory devoid of Lavender and Parvati. It was then she first discovered that touching yourself between your legs felt nice sometimes.

She had not indulged in some time. The war had distracted her from any such urges and despite her attraction to Ron during their brief flame, they had broken things off well before it ever got to…  _ that  _ point.

Thank Merlin.

Eager to get it over with, Hermione cast a  _ Muffliato _ around her bed and its hangings before reaching into her pajama pants. She parted the warm folds of her most intimate place easily, her body already slick with want. It did not take her long to begin climbing to the precipice. It never did.

If there was one thing she disliked about masturbation, it was the falling apart at the end. Sure, it was exhilarating while it was happening… but it also forced her to pull apart at the seams. Control had become essential to her life and the loss of it, even for a moment, bordered on frightening.

After she settled back down, her body buzzing with satisfactory exhaustion and her fingers covered in a smug stickiness, she vaguely wondered what time it was and if she had time for a bath before breakfast. The dream was entirely forgotten.

.

.

Following a leisurely morning meal with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, Hermione found herself with an opportunity to explore the Ravenclaw Stacks. Located in a round chamber off her new common coom, mid-morning light eked in through the panes of three small windows high on the far wall. Dust motes gently hovered in the air where the light fell, highlighting the very pure silence the place had, as if the room were weighted with velvet. Books in varying degrees of newness or dilapidation were crammed onto the shelves that lined the gentle curve of the wall, while more were made into literal stacks that were several-deep. There were no laws of physics that would have allowed many of these piles to stay up without magic, considering how precariously they leaned.

Hermione recognized the smell of the place immediately. It was a very specific fragrance – one she loved – like knowledge and magic combined. Breathing deeply, she took in the scent of the place and pressed her back to the bookshelf behind her, closing her eyes to savor her exhale.

A very familiar voice drawled, "Merlin, Granger… Nott was right, you are a total book nymphomaniac."

Eyes snapping open, Hermione's jaw dropped in horror. Before her stood Malfoy, looking extremely smug and leaning against one of the ladders used to reach the tops of the stacks. He was wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

_ Wait… _ she paused,  _ Malfoy in glasses? _

She swiftly grew pink all the way down her neck as she recalled that day in the library when she had first prompted Theodore Nott's taunting… something he had apparently shared with his friend.

Now that she and Malfoy were no longer covered in a safety blanket of darkness, Hermione regretted her confessional from the previous evening.  _ What was I thinking, trusting someone like him with details of my personal life? We may not be on opposite sides of a war any longer, but he certainly isn't my friend… _

"Nothing to say?" he jeered lightly, a rakish half-smile gracing his proud mouth. "I'm glad I made myself known then, before you continued and I was obliged to cast a scouring charm on that entire stack of books…"

Her blush growing deeper, Hermione stood up straighter and tried to look down her nose at him. This was difficult due to their height difference, but she staunchly refused to give in to his goading. Squinting at him mockingly, she queried, "Are you wearing  _ glasses _ , Malfoy?"

With an irritated growl, he ripped the spectacles off his face and they quickly vanished into the pocket of his robes.

With a smirk to rival one of his own, Hermione crossed her arms and leaned back again. "Draco Malfoy wears glasses. Who knew?"

"I only wear them for reading," he informed her tersely, his mouth as thin as Professor McGonagall's, "which is what you're  _ supposed _ to do in here, rather than come in to sniff the books and jill off. Theo was right, that sort of thing is weirdly arousing - but mostly just highly disturbing."

Tilting her head to the side, she cocked an eyebrow at him. "Did you just refer to me as arousing?"

"Of course not," he denied quickly, recognizing his error. "I called you  _ disturbing _ ."

"Hmm," Hermione hummed dubiously, crossing her arms over her chest and contemplating him.

There were three beats of silence in which both of them seemed at a loss what to say. Despite last night, when they had shared a brief but companionable conversation, this time was situational happenstance. It was also unlike their forced interactions during prefect patrols, when they had a specific task at hand. It was  _ very _ different from their encounters in years past; Hermione supposed she had merely been one head of the hydra that had been her, Harry, and Ron, then. She was hyper-aware that she had been somewhat shadowed by Harry's shine, before - despite her own accomplishments. 

Now that she was without her two best friends – isolated, in a sense, from them – she wondered if Malfoy thought of her differently. After all, she was certainly coming to think of  _ him _ in a new light… her interactions with him had mainly been limited to whenever their paths crossed due to his rivalry with Harry, for which she had mainly been on the periphery...

"I've been here all morning, doing some research for the Alchemy project," he broke the silence, gesturing vaguely to a small, fragile-looking book in his hand.

"It's a tricky subject," Hermione allowed, pleased he had decided to revert to his civil self once more. It was an elusive side of him, but she had glimpsed it before and knew it existed. He was actually nice to talk to when he was being that person. "That's why I'm here, too. Oliver mentioned he discovered an old alchemy text in here and I wondered if there was more information."

"This one seems to have been written in the 1500s." He held up the book in his hand. "It explains alchemy as a blend of spirituality, philosophy and science."

"The textbook indicated something similar," she nodded, trying to catch a glimpse of the title. "Science states that through matter, life was created. Alchemy flips that on its head and argues that life that created matter… that everything was forged from a single source, and that produced the Three Essentials..."

"Mercury, Sulfur, and Salt," he supplied for her. Tilting an eyebrow, he added, "I know."

Hermione's eyes raised to meet Draco's and in those slate-gray orbs, for the first time, she recognized an intellectual equal. Nodding to the book in his hand, she asked, "What else does it say?"

A smirk formed at the corner of his mouth and he took a half a step forward, into her personal space. "Mercury is the spirit of an entity, taking on an identical form in everything that exists. All kingdoms – animal, vegetable or mineral – contain it."

He took another half-step forward. She licked her lips somewhat nervously, determined to ignore that he was crowding her now. "Sulfur?"

The smug expression expanded. "Sulfur is the soul of the entity, which is not the same as the spirit. It is still present in many things that have no sense of self-awareness."

He was very close. Close enough for her to notice the azure tinge to his irises again. Close enough to notice that a piece of his platinum hair had come untucked from behind his ear, but only just. Her breathing hitched and she fought to control herself, her logical brain screaming for her to move despite that her feet had suddenly become leaden.

She did not have to ask him to finish. The dust motes were fluttering gently in the light behind him and the smirk fell from his face fluidly, like a sugar cube dissolving in hot tea. Draco's gaze shifted to her lips and his voice was quiet when he continued, "Salt is the body of the entity, providing the matrix wherein the Mercury and Sulfur can act. It's passive, influenced by subconscious force as well as the conditions affecting the various states of matter..."

_ He doesn't smell like cigarettes _ , her brain noted fuzzily as she felt his breath on her cheek.

Pressed up against a bookshelf, her eyes flicked down to his lips, which were getting closer, then back up to his eyes.

"Tell me not to," he murmured, almost pleadingly. The heat from his breath was already on her mouth.

But with the confusing tumult of conflicting emotions howling in her head, Hermione was unable to say anything at all.

When there was no refusal forthcoming, Draco closed the remaining space between them. Their lips brushed and for a brief moment, they lingered in an unexpectedly chaste kiss.

All hell broke loose as a fire ignited between them, bursting into glorious radiance. Resting her hands on his chest, she noted the lean feel of his body beneath his casual weekend shirt; his hands clenched around her shoulders, bunching the fabric of her cardigan. Warm and savory, the kiss had surprisingly little tongue, considering its overall insatiable nature. His lips were softer than Hermione would have expected, pillowing against hers as they feasted on one another.

The moment his fingers attempted to thread through her hair, quickly becoming tangled in her unruly mass of curls, the spell was broken. The aftermath left them both wearing identical shocked expressions that slowly dawned into equally identical looks of panic.

"Oh no,  _ oh no _ , oh no," Hermione breathed sporadically. "What have we done? Why did we do that? Oh no,  _ oh no _ , oh no,  _ oh no _ …"

Draco looked nauseated as he eyed her nervously. His expression was much more open and vulnerable than she was used to seeing on him, and she thought he looked as if he wished for nothing more than to be as far away from her as humanly possible.

Running a shaking hand through his nearly flawless hair, he backed away from her a few steps. "I'll just…"

He was gone before she even registered the door to the Stacks opening and shutting.

"Breathe, Hermione," she attempted to remember, sinking against the bookshelf and sliding to the floor. She could tell a panic attack was coming, but was powerless to stop it. "Just breathe…"

The door to the Stacks opened again and someone was at her side in another moment. "Hermione?" the male voice queried worriedly. "Hermione? What happened?"

"Just breathe," she repeated firmly, squeezing her eyes shut and folding into herself on the floor. "Breathe in, breathe out… breathe  _ in _ , breathe  _ out… _ "

When she finally was able to collect herself and open her eyes again, she noticed Oliver squatting across from her, looking extremely concerned. There was a prominent wrinkle in his forehead as he frowned at her.

"Sorry," she muttered sheepishly, still breathing shallowly.

"What happened?"

"A panic attack," she explained quietly, embarrassment seeping in. "I get them sometimes, ever since the war…"

Oliver's dark expression relaxed somewhat, morphing mainly into concern. "I saw Malfoy leaving and I wondered if he had accosted you."

"Oh, him? I barely noticed he was here," she lied.

"You still seem shaken. Let me take you to Madam Pomfrey."

"Oh, that's not necessary…"

"I  _ insist _ ."

Gentleman that he was, he escorted her all the way to the Hospital Wing, even sympathizing appropriately when she was given some Draught of Peace (the hellebore syrup in it gave it the sticky consistency of honey). Afterward, he walked her back up to Ravenclaw Tower so she could rest, insisting she needed some time to herself following her ordeal.

_ Ordeal is an excellent description for what just happened _ , she silently agreed.

It was lucky the dormitory was empty, Hermione realized... because that afternoon, Draco Malfoy became the second boy she had ever cried over.

The first had been Ron. Oblivious, mulish Ron. First, he had made her cry after the Yule Ball; second, when he had taken up with Lavender Brown. There had been many more times following those, when the stresses of war had leaked into the bloom of their dubious relationship.

This time, it felt different from crying over Ron.

This time, it hurt more than Hermione could have imagined crying over a boy could, and was all the more frustrating because she was not even sure  _ why _ it hurt. Truly, it had been a spectacular kiss… but it was also  _ Malfoy _ . All she knew, was that Draco had asked her to refuse him, and then kissed her anyway when she could not form a resistance. Afterward, he had seemed just as panic-striken as she felt...

Sniffling quietly into her pillow, she bemoaned,  _ How can I possibly face him for our Monday patrol? _

She resented tomorrow for being unavoidable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have mixed feelings about this chapter, mostly because I hope I pulled it off okay. I will maybe seem like I am rushing things, but I promise there's a method to my madness. Or something like that.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so all mistakes are my own
> 
> As always, thank you so much to everyone who took the time to comment. I love and appreciate you all.


	12. Bloody Staircases

Like many things brought to the forefront of the mind with dread, Monday passed alarmingly fast. The clock seemed to be ticking away at record speed.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry queried in Transfiguration. They were attempting to transform barnacles into piglets this week.

"Perfectly fine, thank you, Harry," she answered tersely, casting an _Immobulus_ on her piglet in order to stop it from running about the classroom. It squealed loudly in displeasure.

He glanced around to be sure no one was listening and lowered his voice, "I don't suppose you have the map?"

Stiffening somewhat, Hermione had known her friend was going to ask for the Marauder's Map back at some point, but it was still cause for irrational disappointment. Reaching into her bookbag, she pulled it out from where she had crammed it in-between two textbooks, neatly slipping it into Harry's bag.

"Thanks," he murmured, offering her a smile she did not return. Frowning, he repeated, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Never better," she fumed, feeling just as stymied as her piglet.

.

.

After lunch was a double-block of Ancient Runes. Having forgotten her textbook in Ravenclaw Tower, Hermione had to trudge all the way back up several flights of stairs, wrangle with a brain-bending riddle, then hasten back down to the classroom in order to not be late. This - coupled with the Malfoy situation that had been simmering away in the forefront of her mind - meant that by the time she arrived for class, she was feeling about as affable as a harpy.

All the seats at the front were taken, so she sat at an empty table near the back that was free, trying to ignore the platinum blond head that was sitting two rows in front of her. So far, they had both been avoiding one another... which was fine by Hermione, though she knew it could not last.

As she settled into her desk, Professor Babbling had all but begun teaching, when Theo Nott sauntered in at the last minute. He glanced around the room and his eyes fell on the empty chair at the table beside her.

She groaned inwardly as he made his way toward her, dropping his bag carelessly to the ground beside the table just as Babbling began her lecture.

They were learning about trollish runes today... or Hermione _would_ have been, if Nott had not been purposefully bumping her elbow at times, or else nearly knocking over her inkwell. Or nearly knocking over _his_ inkwell. Or jamming his foot into hers. Finally, she passed him a request on a scrap of parchment:

_Will you please STOP?_

He smirked broadly. Hermione wondered if all Slytherins had to attend a secret, Slytherin-only class detailing the finer points of the art of smirking. _They all seem to pull it off so well_ , she thought bitterly, her eyes flickering once more to the back of Draco's head. He was bent over his desk as he copied down his notes with an ostentatious and clearly expensive eagle quill.

_Truce?_

The letters were thin and sharp, rather like Nott himself. Hermione stared at the single word on the parchment with a frown. What could he mean? A truce from what, exactly?

Her obvious confusion only seemed to please him more. He did not extrapolate for a few moments, preoccupied with taking down notes on what Professor Babbling was saying. Eventually, Nott expanded:

_Tomorrow. Library. After dinner._

Hermione stared at the note for some time, until she was snapped from her reverie in time to begin taking notes. All the while her quill scratched away however, her mind remained preoccupied...

_Tomorrow. Library. After dinner._

Hermione knew very well that the library closed at eight. _It's not against the rules,_ she reasoned. Still, she felt very strongly that whatever Nott might have to say to her would probably be offensive, at the very least. Or perhaps he intended to hex her… but then he probably would not have chosen the library as the place to do so…

Luckily, he did not seem to expect an answer. In fact, Nott left her alone for the rest of their class. When it was over, he did not even cast her a backward glance when he stalked out, apparently in a hurry to depart.

_Tomorrow. Library. After dinner._

_Well, at least I've got a day to think about it,_ she sighed glumly.

Malfoy and Zabini stood up from their table and made their way toward the door. For the first time that day, Malfoy's eyes flickered up to Hermione and they locked gazes. It only lasted a split-second before he looked away and strode from the classroom with purpose, ignoring her completely.

_Even if I do meet Nott tomorrow,_ she decided grimly, _it can't possibly be as awkward as patrol is going to be tonight..._

.

.

She was not wrong.

Draco was waiting for her by the common room entrance that evening, right on time. When she approached, he was suddenly extremely invested in fiddling with the prefect badge pinned to his chest, instead of looking at her.

_Deep breath in… deep breath out…_ Hermione coached herself, recalling his lips pressing against hers only yesterday. She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing.

They descended the staircase of Ravenclaw Tower in silence. Crookshanks was nowhere to be found, even for the purpose of distraction. Hermione found she missed her cat's presence particularly this evening.

Once they reached the fifth floor corridor, Malfoy finally spoke, grimly advising, "Let's never talk about it, Granger. To anyone. Deal?"

She did not have to ask what he was referring to. "Deal."

Draco seemed to visibly relax; his mouth seemed less grim, his shoulders less tense… Hermione belatedly wondered if she should feel offended, but decided she did not care. She did not want anyone knowing _she_ had kissed _him_ , either… After all, he was still the boy that had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, regardless of what had happened since.

"I just…" she began as they started walking. Then, in a near-whisper, "I just… _need_ to know… why did you do it? You even asked me to stop you. Why me? You _hate_ me. You hate everyone _like_ me…"

"I don't," he said quickly, his eyebrows drawing together into a deep frown. "Hate you, I mean." With a sigh, he added, "I don't have it in me to hate anyone, anymore."

"But you made it so clear that you detested everyone of my blood status," she pressed. They began descending the stair to the fourth floor, but had to pause for the staircase to shift.

"I thought we weren't going to talk about it?"

"Just this once… then never again, I promise."

He sighed deeply through his nose, his eyes again flickering toward her. "You looked like you wanted to be kissed."

Shocked, she questioned, "So you took it upon yourself to just…?"

"Granger," he stopped her. "Just drop it. Okay?"

Unsatisfied, she shook her head in protest.

He expanded, "It keeps me up most nights, knowing that I'll be hounded by the choices of my father for the rest of my life. Marked as a Death Eater before I was even seventeen… I was too stupid to realize I was just a pawn." His eyes gazed up at the ceiling when he muttered, "But I learned… and quickly."

Hermione did not see what this had to do with their kiss. It seemed more likely that he was just trying to change the subject by way of distracting her from the topic altogether. The staircase finished moving and they made their way onto a different landing than their usual one, resolving to take the long way down toward the bottom floors.

"I think about that stupid riddle all the time, you know," he told her. "'Hurt without moving, poison without touching, bear the truth and lies, not to be judged by size.' _Words…_ it makes so much sense. But our actions define us, too – and in both those categories I have been stunningly derelict."

"I had no idea that riddle got to you so deeply," Hermione admitted as they poked their heads into the first of the fourth floor classrooms. They were going about their patrol backward because of the shifting of the staircase, but she found she welcomed the change from the usual monotony. "For what it's worth, the riddle from the other day is something I've been thinking about a lot, too. 'I may only be given, never taken or bought.' _Forgiveness…_ you answered it so easily."

"Forgiveness is something I contemplate with great frequency."

Hermione turned this over in her head a few times as they checked a study area, two more classrooms and a storage room without incident. "Why did you start smoking?"

"I don't like talking about myself," he reminded her. "I already told you that."

"I told you about my panic attacks," she pointed out.

He waved this away. "Volunteered information."

"I still told you…"

"So you're under the impression I now owe you something in return? How about you tell me how you found me the other evening when I was smoking in the passage by the Quidditch pitch?"

Hermione clamped her mouth shut.

"That's what I thought."

Glaring at him, she attacked him with, "Your stupid kiss yesterday gave me a full-blown panic attack! Oliver had to bring me to the Hospital Wing for some Draught of Peace…"

"Good thing your boyfriend was there to save the day, then," Draco sneered.

"He's _not_ my boyfriend!" she fumed. "If he was, I wouldn't have kissed you!"

A couple beats of silence followed this revelation and – too late – Hermione realized what she said. She began to color a deep red.

"Like I said before, Granger... you're a dichotomy just dying to be explored…"

"If I'm a dichotomy, you're an enigma."

With a soft laugh, he answered, "I started smoking about two years ago. Blaise first introduced Theo to them, right around the time the Dark Lord rose again. Theo's father was a fervent supporter of the old ways – moreso than my own father, if you can believe it – and Theo's home life became unbearable. Cigarettes helped him to deal with the stresses of being under his father's foot.

"After I took the Mark," he continued, "and the Dark Lord began impressing upon me that my mother's fate lay in my hands, Theo gave me my first cigarette. They help somewhat with the anxiety…" his voice trailed away and Hermione thought she noticed him shiver with memory.

"But you never stopped. Even though Voldemort is gone, you still do it."

He shrugged. "I still have anxiety. I don't sleep most nights."

Hermione looked at her feet as they finished up the fourth floor and headed down to the third. It was one thing to dislike Draco for the things he had done in his past… it was another to understand where he had been coming from when he had done them. "Thank you for sharing with me."

He snorted derisively, but said nothing.

"I don't like not being in control, either."

"Hence the panic attacks," he inferred. He sounded almost bored now. "Though, I'm not sure a kiss should have been enough to bring one on. If anything, a little snogging ought to relieve some stress."

She colored again and wished she hadn't, because she knew he noticed.

"One heck of a kiss, though," he commented, smirking.

Hermione could feel the heat coming from her face and secretly agreed. Out loud, she only said, "I suppose."

"Don't get me wrong… I am still going to hold you to your promise of never speaking of it," he assured her coolly. He came to a stop beside the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor to poke his head inside a storeroom beside it.

Hermione stared at the statue of the hump-backed witch and wished she were anywhere else. She recalled that this particular statue was the one that opened up to a secret passage leading into Honeydukes' cellar. It would have been nice to crawl inside it and hide from Draco at that moment. Instead, she steeled herself and continued on as if he had said nothing.

They patrolled the Charms corridor and the Armor Gallery without incident. The Trophy Room was missing; it often changed locations when it felt like it. Hermione concluded, "It must be on the first floor tonight."

"Probably," Draco agreed.

The staircases shifted again when they began to make their way to the second floor.

"Bloody staircases," he fumed.

Hermione almost giggled at his ire. Draco, it seemed, was a creature of habit.

The staircase spilled them out onto a relatively unfamiliar corridor Hermione did not recognize right away. There were several empty classrooms and storage spaces here she could not recall ever patrolling before. "Is this part of our rotation? I don't remember doing these rooms before…"

Draco was frowning, and from this she inferred that he had been thinking the same thing. Before long, they were in completely unfamiliar territory. Even the suits of armor and the tapestries looked foreign.

"Where are we?"

"Second floor," he muttered. "Somewhere…"

But this was not necessarily true, Hermione realized, as she glanced from the window. "It looks like we're on the ground level… but that can't be! We never descended the stairs…"

Turning the corner, they came to a dead end, but for a single door. Unlike all the other unmarked doors they had passed, this had a shining trim that ran along the stone arch of the doorframe. Upon closer inspection, the gold inlay seemed to depict numerous birds in flight.

_Eagles,_ Hermione realized, her eyes dancing along the doorframe to take in the details. Every feather seemed to have been embellished with care and precision.

"Dead end," Draco observed, eyeing the door warily. "Maybe we should head back…"

"It's just this last room," she protested, reaching for the handle. "We might as well be thorough."

Before her hand could even touch the latch, the door swung inward of its own accord.

They peered together through the doorway for a few moments. It seemed to lead down a passage made of the same stone as the rest of the castle - dark, but with light streaming in.

Glancing around the inside, Hermione noticed the walls and ceiling of the place were crumbling, almost like a ruin. In one spot, a hole was so large that ivy was climbing down the inner wall like a conquering warlord, nearly creeping across the floor and taking firm root in the cracks between the stones. Upon further investigation, there seemed not to be any windows.

Glancing up at the ceiling peppered with holes, Draco observed, "The light all comes from the moonlight outside. There are holes in the walls and ceiling… clearly this is an unused area of the castle... maybe left over from the battle last May."

Hermione did not think the damage done to the passage ahead was recent, however. Glancing behind her at the safety of the (relatively) known Hogwarts, then back at the unknown and dilapidated passage before her, she gathered her courage and gave in to her curiosity. Stepping into the passage, she felt the magic around her shift tangibly and she sucked in a breath.

"What is it?" Draco queried.

Contemplating her reply carefully before she made it, she answered, "There is a different magical signature about this place than other parts of the castle."

Draco took a step back. "We shouldn't go there, then."

"It doesn't feel malignant…"

"That doesn't mean it isn't," he pointed out shrewdly.

Hermione gazed above her at the ancient stone arches and noted five missing stones, all of which had long ago become debris that littered the stone floor near her feet. She took another step and her feet slipped forward a few centimeters under a mixture of centuries' worth of dust and fallen mortar, which had long-since crumbled into near-nothing.

"There aren't any cobwebs," she observed. "Do you think it's really been that long since someone was here that there aren't even spiders?"

"Either that or there is something so vile in that place, even insects can't bear to be near it."

Hermione shook her head, sending her curls bouncing about her shoulders. She felt his answer was very theatrical. She insisted, "It doesn't feel intrinsically evil. If anything, it feels like a museum after closing time."

"Will you _come out_ from there? We obviously don't need to patrol it. It's clear no one has been here."

She raised her eyebrows at the faint note of panic that was mostly hidden under a cloak of annoyance in his voice. "Why _not_ look closer?"

Draco seemed to be struggling to find a reason. He settled on, "It makes me uneasy."

With a smile, Hermione teased, "Where's your sense of _adventure_?"

"I'm a Slytherin," he reminded her, spearing her with a deadpanned gaze of cold hauteur, "we value self-preservation, not senseless acts of unnecessary bravery… something Gryffindors almost always mistake for cowardice, I might point out."

"Actually, you're a Ravenclaw," she retorted cheekily, "and Ravenclaws pride themselves on their knowledge and cleverness. Aren't you a _little_ curious? Don't you want to know what this place is?"

He hissed in annoyance, "You're goading me. It won't work."

Laughing, Hermione's eyes glittered as she snatched her wand from her pocket and took a few more steps into the passage. Draco was still standing stubbornly in the doorway, watching her closely. "I'm going to explore this. It's my duty as a school prefect to make sure the castle is secure. If you want to wait there for my return… by all means…"

Draco watched as she turned the corner out of sight, bushy hair bouncing behind her. With a roar of frustration he stalked after her into the passage, the door shutting behind him.

Pleased, Hermione was waiting for him just around the corner, her mouth curled into a smug expression that only seemed to incense him.

"Now what?" he demanded irritably.

"There's another door, just there." She pointed at a simple wooden door with rusted metal latches at the end of the passage. It was partially blocked by fallen stones, but otherwise looked extremely ordinary.

"This place _reeks_ of enchantment."

"Nonsense, it looks like no one has been here for centuries." The thick film of dust on the floor attested this fact.

"That doesn't mean it isn't enchanted," he reasoned.

She knew he was right and she could not help but notice that gooseflesh had raised on her arms in… trepidation? Or was it anticipation? Perhaps both? "Come on."

Leading the way toward the door, Hermione cast Wingardium Leviosa at the fallen stones blocking the door, shifting them away. She reached for the handle; it was cold to the touch.

And locked.

Draco nearly breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, that's that. Come on, let's go back."

" _Alohomora_ ," she whispered at the lock. The keyhole glowed with a white light for a moment and the door swung inward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many heartfelt thanks to those who commented! It makes me so happy to read all your thoughts on this fic so far, honestly.
> 
> The rest of the story is all mapped out and I regret to inform you that this is going to be long. Or, maybe that's exciting? You decide.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	13. A Discovery & A Truth

There were so many things to look at, Hermione did not know where to begin.

Their footsteps were muffled by a midnight blue carpet as she and Draco made their way into the unknown room. Queen Anne's Lace was growing plentifully in a large pot by the door, and the showy, white heads nodded at them from atop thin stalks as they passed.

The first thing she was able to register, was that there were mountains upon mountains of books. It was even more glorious than the shipping and receiving room of Flourish & Blotts, (Hermione had never actually been there, but she had dreamt about it). Not only were there books, but there were also scrolls, parchments and artifacts. An ancient Indian suit of armor stood upright in the corner, shiny and polished as though new. Nearby was a collection of battle-axes and swords from another century.

Along the walls were lengthy shelves, suitable for salvers or shields to be slotted in, and cubbies large enough for nothing more than a mug, a ring, or a pair of gloves. Every inch of the walls were covered in shelving and every shelf was occupied.

Her wandering eyes seemed to dart this way, then that, until she became dizzy with it all.

"It's all new," Draco noticed, startling Hermione from her observations. "The corridor outside looked like a ruin, whereas this place feels like someone was just here."

Hermione noticed his wand was out and that he was tense, as if waiting for an attack he suspected was imminent. She, on the other hand, felt inexplicably at ease.

There were easels all around, some with half-finished masterpieces sitting there as though cast away or unimportant. The ground was littered with objects: urns, pelts, books in stacks, coils of rope, candles, used quills, a pair of women's leather boots, censers, even several enormous pearls.

The things that appeared most frequently on the floor were crumpled-up bits of parchment. Instead of making it appear like the room had been wrecked, the place seemed more like the comfortable study of a less-than-tidy intellectual. Someone who was not expecting company.

"Where do you suppose we are?" she queried. Her eyes darted to the far wall where a cauldron was set up around even more shelving that contained mostly potion ingredients.

Draco's eyes were still roaming the room for a hint of foul play. "Haven't the faintest idea."

A huge, mahogany desk with clawed feet and intricately carved eagle designs sat before an impressive wooden chair, draped with a cobalt-colored hooded cloak and embellished with shining bronze thread. The desk was littered with personal items, including keys on an iron ring and a small collection of locked books. A mug of tea still had a faint trace of warmth to it. There were several letters of correspondence written in beautiful shorthand near the edge of the table, weighted down with a sapphire-encrusted inkwell.

Hermione went to the desk and lifted the inkwell to read the nearest letter, hoping to find a clue. A stick of wax and a seal rolled out from the pile; the seal bore an intricate letter 'R.'

The pieces of the puzzle all seemed to fit, but Hermione could not bring herself to actually believe her suspicion… until her eyes rested on the bottom of the nearest parchment, which was elegantly signed ' _Rowena Ravenclaw_.'

She dropped the inkwell in shock and it clattered back onto the desk with a noise that seemed to reverberate through her heart. Swiftly grasping at it to keep it from spilling, she righted it and placed it back on top of the letters.

"This is Rowena Ravenclaw's study," she announced.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion as he turned to look at her. "How do you know?"

"There are several letters here that are all signed by her…"

He lowered his wand somewhat, but his eyes narrowed even further into mere slits. "That doesn't make any sense. This place looks and feels like someone was just here a moment ago."

Her eyes scanned the study, but Hermione could find no obvious answer for him. There were too many shelves to examine them all, and each was loaded down with such a plethora of objects and instruments. Seven vases made of pottery that looked like they might be from the Han dynasty were arranged in a circle by an old harpsichord. An oboe-like instrument stood upright on top of a stack of blank canvases. It would be impossible to know where to start.

"Unless we've gone back in time…" Draco mused quietly.

Shaking her head, Hermione insisted, "I've gone back in time on many occasions and trust me, we haven't."

"Let me guess, something to do with a harebrained scheme of Potter's?"

"Not at all, actually," she retorted, unwilling to expound upon the subject. "It would be near impossible for us to travel through so many centuries without having any knowledge of it. Suffice to say, we haven't gone back. However… it is possible…" she trailed off.

"Possible what?" he encouraged.

She began chewing on her lip. "It is _possible_ this room acts as a kind of time capsule, although I'm not exactly sure how such magic works. Still, if this really was Rowena's study, it is theoretically feasible that she really _did_ just leave the room."

He stared hard at her, as if he could determine the truth by doing so. "I have never heard of Ravenclaw leaving behind a secret room at Hogwarts."

Shrugging, Hermione reasoned, "Salazar Slytherin did it when he created the Chamber of Secrets. Certainly that's the most famous example of a founder leaving behind a piece of their legacy in the castle. Slytherin did it to purge the school of Muggle-borns, which was what he thought to be crucial. We know Ravenclaw considered intellect to be of the utmost importance; maybe this room is how she opted to immortalize that. It isn't unreasonable to think there's more than one secret chamber in this castle…"

Draco glanced around the cluttered study once more, taking in the details. Hermione noticed his wand was not at the ready any longer, though it was still strategically stowed in his sleeve, just in case.

"If this room really was hers, it's a lot clearer to me why Ravenclaws are supposed to be the smartest of the bunch. Do you think there's anything she _didn't_ do?" He gestured as he gave examples, "She painted, she played music, she collected artifacts, she studied many subjects… did she ever have spare time to sleep, do you think?"

Hermione laughed. Draco's head snapped back around to stare, unused as he was to hearing such a genuine sound coming from her. "I'm sure she found time somehow or other."

Making her way over to the cauldron, Hermione made a mental catalogue of the ingredients displayed there. The shelves revealed corked vials carved from ivory and colorfully glazed storage pots sealed with wax. One small glass terrarium boasted lilies in bloom from their tubers. A bowl of fish eyes like buttons – all still damp and intelligent – sat on a small, round table beside a heap of hairy borage leaves. A collection of ladles made of different metals or woods hung on the wall, along with bundles of dried herbs.

In the bottom of the cauldron was about a cupful of silvery dust. Hermione glanced at a music stand nearby, upon which a haphazardly handwritten potion recipe sat, the corners of the parchment curling slightly.

Draco squinted at the recipe and Hermione could not help but tease, "Sure would be nice to have your reading glasses, now wouldn't it?"

He threw her a quick glare and picked up the parchment. After reading it for a few moments, he muttered, "It can't be."

"What?"

He fended off her grasping hand. "This recipe would indicate that this is truth-compelling powder. Similar to Veritaserum."

"But if this really is Rowena Ravenclaw's study," Hermione gawked, "Vertiaserum wouldn't first be discovered for another several centuries after Vivian Veritas first brewed it with successful results in 1818…"

"Tell me something, Hermione: have you made it your goal in life to make _everything_ your business?"

She flushed. "That was relevant."

Rolling his eyes, Draco bent over the cauldron and peered inside. The silvery powder glistened innocently. He reached a finger down to touch it, until Hermione grabbed his wrist.

"Don't," she advised.

He withdrew his hand, looking sheepish. "You're right."

"There are some empty flasks here." Hermione picked up a cut crystal vial with an ornate cork stopper and handed it over to him.

Draco raised an eyebrow, though he took the vial. "Are you encouraging me to take some?"

Shaking her head, she insisted, "For the sake of study _only_ , not to use. This could be the predecessor to a well-known potion! Perhaps the only existing prototype…"

"My, my," he joked, "and here I had you pegged as a goody-two-shoes, too noble to steal."

_Stealing,_ Hermione realized, because that was what it was.

She recalled taking eggs from a barn one day at the beginning of the hunt for Voldemort's horcruxes; she had left some money in the coop to pay for what she had stolen. Harry and Ron had insisted she not worry about it, but the act had still left a funny taste in her mouth, which a long-overdue warm meal had not entirely done away with.

_Did I really do enough stealing last year that I'm callous to it now?_ she fretted. Aloud, she conceded, "You're right, I don't know what I was thinking."

There was an odd glint in Draco's eye when he responded, "It's hard to feel guilty about stealing something from someone who has been dead for so long. I'm not sure it even counts as stealing at this point."

It seemed he was determined to take some, regardless of her ideals. _Is it still considered stealing if the person we're taking it from died in the eleventh century?_

While she dithered over the ideology of whether or not it was right to take some of the rare powder, Draco's hand had already dipped into the cauldron, scooping up a small amount with the crystal vial.

Hermione was unsure if it was because Draco needed glasses more than he let on, or because of the ultra-fine grain of the truth-compelling powder, but his hand was covered in silver dust when it emerged. The stuff clung like glitter and refused to be shaken off, no matter how hard he tried. After only about ten seconds, he instead tried to wash it away with an _Aguamenti._

"Here, let me help," Hermione offered, conjuring a cloth for his contaminated hand.

"My favorite food was something my grandmother used to make," Draco revealed randomly. "It was a roasted goose dressed in caramelized blood oranges. I haven't had it since she died and sometimes I wonder if it's my favorite food because it's good, or because I miss my grandmother."

Blinking, Hermione could only stare. She held the cloth out for him to use, but he seemed too astonished to do anything with it.

"Erm, how… um?" she spluttered awkwardly.

"What in Merlin's name?" Draco cursed, his eyes darting again to the parchment with the potion recipe. " _Truth-compelling_ powder?"

He looked positively horrorstruck.

Frowning, Hermione gestured for him to give her the recipe so she could look it over. He obligingly passed it to her and she examined the page carefully.

"Yes," she confirmed, "you're going to begin telling truths until you can get all the powder off. The longer it remains in contact with your skin, the deeper the truths you will begin to reveal."

Scrubbing furiously with the cloth and more water, Draco told her, "I thought your hair was pretty when it was straight, but it didn't look like you. I like you better like this, when you're in desperate need of a hairbrush."

" _What_?"

Draco winced and his pale face took on a sickly hue, like he was experiencing the first wamblings of nausea. "Help me get this… effing… crap _off_!"

Her hands seemed to move of their own accord, mechanically. Had Draco really just admitted he liked her crazy, bushy curls?

A better question: had the world gone topsy?

It was possible. Distinctly possible.

"My anxiety really bothers me," he grit out. Attempting to keep his mouth clamped shut, his face quickly grew red as he attempted to keep further information hidden. It was of no use; the rest of his intelligence seemed to burst out of its own volition so that he was nearly yelling, "Malfoys are supposed to be calm, cool, collected! I have a really hard time being that way, ever since the war. I sometimes get too explosive, which was not how I was raised." He clenched his jaw so hard, the last of his confession came out in a hiss, "It makes me feel like I'm not the son and heir I was expected to be."

"You can't help that!" Hermione insisted, conjuring a second cloth to help him scrub. It was both fascinating and uncomfortable to hear him reveal facts about himself, especially since it was so difficult to get them out of him normally.

She handed him the new cloth and took the old, accidentally brushing some of the silvery powder onto herself in the process.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, realizing her mistake. "Evanesco."

The spell did not work.

"Scourgify!"

That did not work either.

"No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I think that's why I wasn't re-sorted into Gryffindor. Now that the war is over, there are so much of both those things in my life."

Draco's scrubbing slowed for a moment. "Is that why you get panic attacks? You're afraid?"

"This powder is _dreadful_!" she effused angrily. The more she scrubbed, the more of it seemed to appear and spread across her hand.

"I lost one of my best friends because I was unable to protect him," Draco whispered. He had gone serious, a deep-seated pain evident only in the contracting of his pale eyebrows. As attempting to keep the information confined had not previously worked, he murmured in the lowest audible voice, "Crabbe might have been an idiot most of the time, but he was one of my oldest friends. I can't even stand to be in the same room as Goyle now. That feeling is mutual. It brings up too many memories. Greg felt Vince's loss even more than I did. That's partially why he couldn't come back this year. That, and he always hated school."

_Scrub, scrub, scrub._ It seemed like it would never come off.

Hermione could feel a tingling in her trachea, as if random secrets simply could not wait to come careening out. Her mouth opened before she even registered it. "I think the worst thing I've ever had to do in my life was to _Obliviate_ my parents. It felt like I'd erased my entire existence, and not just from their minds."

Draco's eyes flickered up to her briefly, only to discover she was looking away from him pointedly.

"I always had a level of respect for you, even when we were younger," he muttered, taking her cue and not meeting her eyes. "Even despite your blood status. You weren't someone I wanted to mess with and that generated esteem whether I wanted, or not."

Hermione paused in her abrading to stare at him. If it were not for the truth-compelling powder, she would think he had made it up just to tease her. Then, as another hidden factoid began to work its way up her throat, she clamped her hand across her mouth as if a physical barrier could prevent its escape. After struggling for a moment, her hand came away on its own and she betrayed herself again: "I think you look very attractive in your glasses… and Ravenclaw colors look good on you, too. They bring out your eyes."

She sucked in a gasp and even Draco had to look up with a smirk on his face.

"Good Godric, what have I said?" she breathed, her mouth hanging open.

"I think you just admitted you have the hots for me."

"I certainly did _not_!" she effused, her face a brilliant scarlet.

"I kissed you because you looked like you wanted to be kissed, but mostly because I really wanted to kiss you."

She had not known it was possible for her face to become as red as Ron's hair, but that was what happened; even Draco's face was pink now. Luckily for him, he finally won the battle with the powder and his hand appeared to be free of it.

"Finally!"

Hermione grimaced hopelessly at her own digits, where there was still a fine smudge of the awful substance. She began scouring all the harder, feeling even more vulnerable now that their shared misery was only hers.

"The other night, I found you using a map that shows the entirety of Hogwarts and where everyone is in it. I borrowed it from Harry after the Slytherin party in order to get back to the common room undetected. I saw you were out of bed and wanted to see what you were up to. After sixth year, when you let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, it's hard to trust you not to do something like that again. I used to always defend you to Harry and Ron before that, to give you the benefit of the doubt… until you really did screw up."

She did not dare look at his face.

Instead, she redoubled her efforts, which were very nearly rewarded. The powder was almost gone, but not before she could reveal her final truth, "Yours was the best kiss I've ever had, but it brought on a panic attack because it's you and I don't think I can ever trust you."

Finally, she was free of the powder. She threw her cloth down next to his and stared at her feet. The ordeal might be over, but everything they had confessed sat awkwardly between them.

They were reticent for a minute, an hour, an eternity. Eventually, Hermione broke the silence with her cuttingly business-like manner. "We still have a patrol to complete."

"Right."

"We can put this all behind us, act like it didn't happen. Just like that kiss."

"I don't want to act like that snog didn't happen," he surprised her. "I said I didn't want to speak of it to anyone."

Hermione's head snapped up to gape at him.

"When you said you had a panic attack because it was me that kissed you… was that the only reason? That you couldn't trust me?"

She blinked at the slate-colored eyes staring back at her, the pale face like moonlight, the pointed nose, the trademark platinum hair. In that face, somehow, she had ceased to see an enemy. But she did not recognize a friend, either.

"I don't know how I could ever come to trust you, Draco."

"I never asked you to trust me."

She swallowed. "I know."

"You didn't answer the question," he pressed.

"I know," she repeated. She bit her lip hard enough to cause the blood to rush to it, rendering it a rosy hue. "I think…" she glanced up at him, unnerved to find him watching her closely, his eyes rooted to her with rapt attention. "I think you're prejudiced and therefore, narrow-minded. I don't think you're honest and I don't think you're very nice. The way you spoke to me - for years - was shocking and awful."

He waited for her to finish; he already knew most of what she had said was true.

"However, I also believe your narrow-mindedness comes from being indoctrinated into that way of life by your family. You were offered a route of redemption, but you decided on the meandering path between both your options instead. You couldn't kill Dumbledore and you didn't turn the three of us in when we were held captive at the Manor. I'm not sure what that _means_ exactly... maybe that you're a good person hidden beneath an awful personality."

"You really know how to lay on the compliments," he drawled sarcastically.

"The fact that you are listening to me right now instead of hexing me into pieces is a small victory and shows progress," she responded, crossing her arms. "I don't believe it would be helpful to tell you anything other than the truth."

He sneered, "The truth. I've had enough of truth for one evening. Possibly for the entire week, thanks to this foul powder of Ravenclaw's."

Hermione straightened, glancing furtively at the vial sitting unstoppered on the side table, then back at Draco. "We should really finish our patrol…"

"I'm more than ready to leave," he acquiesced, leading the way toward the door.

When his back was turned, Hermione quickly used nonverbal spells to stopper the vial and clean it off before shrinking it and hiding it in her pocket. In the end, it appeared it was too good an opportunity for her to merely leave the powder behind.

She was so caught up in being surreptitious that she almost bumped into Draco on the way out of the room. He had lifted a book from the shelf nearest the door and was flipping through it.

"Alchemy," he merely explained, shutting the tome and tucking it under his arm.

"You're stealing it?"

" _Borrowing_ it," he corrected, heading to the door once more.

She offered no further reprimands or judgments, feeling she really did not have a right to do so, considering what was in the pocket of _her_ robes…

They passed through the ruinous corridor beyond Rowena's study and back into the known Hogwarts castle. They both felt the shift in the magical aura the moment they set foot back onto the main corridor.

"Let's go," Draco encouraged, leading the way.

Hermione turned to look one last time at the gilded door behind them, but it had disappeared, leaving only a blank expanse of wall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra props if you guessed what was behind the door before this chapter went up. As always, I appreciate all the love and comments so much.
> 
> Veritable heaps of gratefulness to I_was_BOTWP for making time in her busy life to beta this chapter.


	14. Maddeningly Infuriating

****Leaving the hidden room behind, Hermione quickly found herself trotting behind Malfoy, attempting to keep up with him as he fled the area. Clearly, he was looking to avoid speaking with her, she decided, and she found she was content to do the same.

They were thwarted in their endeavor not to interact with one another by the time they reached the caves, less than five minutes later. Pansy Parkinson was there again, snogging a Slytherin student Hermione did not know. It was not the same boy they had caught her with last time.

"Back with the Mudblood _again_ , Draco?" she jeered, speaking to Draco, but looking toward Hermione for a reaction. Hermione chose to maintain eye contact with Pansy rather than watch the Slytherin boy adjust his tightened trousers. The boy scampered away as fast as he could before the prefects could ascertain his name and deduct house points.

"Believe it or not, Parkinson, some people come down here for other things besides slagging themselves out," Draco countered calmly. "Ten points from Hufflepuff." 

Pansy rolled her eyes and adjusted her blouse, which had been shifted to the side to reveal the corner of her hot pink bra.

Eyes flickering to where the couple had been tangled around one another only a moment ago, Hermione stressed fairness by adding, "Ten from Slytherin, too."

At this, Pansy's eyes shifted to Hermione. She cast her a withering glare, "So, Granger, here you are again with Draco. Don't pretend as if you don't wish he'd snog you senseless down here… it probably would be the most action you've ever had." The pug-faced girl made a noise of disgust. "As if you'd ever touch a _Mudblood_ , Draco!"

"Enough of your bile," Draco growled.

A simpering smirk drifted onto Pansy's face. "Admit it, you miss me… and I'm a lot more interesting than Miss Frigid Schoolmarm, here."

"Get back to your dorm, Pansy," he insisted.

Leveling her chin, the witch's vaguely seductive smile became something more feral in an instant. "Be careful, Draco. Just because the Dark Lord's gone, doesn't mean Mudbloods are fair game now. Imagine what your father would say..."

"I'll thank you to allow my business to remain my own," Draco reprimanded sharply. "Now... go back to your little badger hole, Parkinson."

With a hiss of displeasure and her nose in the air, Pansy stalked from the caves, her skirt sitting crookedly on her swaying hips as she retreated.

_Admit it, you miss me…_

Pansy's words ricocheted through Hermione's mind. So there _had_ been something between her and Malfoy! Irrationally, she wondered how much Draco had given – or taken – when it came to Pansy Parkinson. Then, with a jolt she reminded herself that it was none of her business.

And she really did not care.

_Right?_

"Granger!"

Hermione started. "Yes?"

Draco shook his head and testified, "You've been staring at the wall."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Are you ready to head back up to the tower? Patrol is done." 

"Right." 

As they began to climb, the topic she had been dreading came to light: "So… Potter has a map of Hogwarts that shows where people are and what they're doing at all times. That explains a lot."

Hermione focused a glare at him, "It's not fair to use something I said under the truth-compelling powder against me."

"I'm a Malfoy. I don't play fair."

"I'll keep that in mind…"

"This map. Do you still have it?"

"No."

"And you wouldn't tell me, even if you _did_ have it," he assessed. He did not seem annoyed; rather, it seemed as if her answer had garnered his approval.

They reached the fifth floor corridor that led to the base of Ravenclaw Tower. Draco stopped nearby the balcony she once found him smoking on with Nott and Zabini. 

"Go on up without me. After the incident in Ravenclaw's study, I need a smoke."

"There is no smoking on school grounds, Malfoy," she reminded him sternly.

He shrugged, pulling a discrete packet from the pocket of his robes. "Take points if you like, I'm going regardless."

Puffing up like a popinjay, Hermione trailed after him as he stalked out onto the little balcony, fiddling with his wand and the packet. His hands seemed to be shaking somewhat; perhaps he really _did_ need to alleviate some anxiety... still...

"Put that away," she demanded.

He did not answer.

" _Please_ put it away," she tried.

The corners of his mouth tugged up at her attempt. "Nice try at manners, Granger."

"You are going to kill yourself smoking those."

He rolled his eyes, selecting one of the white cylinders and twiddling it between two slender fingers. "We have had this conversation before… almost word-for-word."

"If you don't put that away, I'll…" But Hermione did not know what she would do if he didn't, so the idle threat was rather unimpressive in the end.

"You'll what?"

She pursed her lips.

"The only way I am not smoking this cigarette is if you knock it out of my hands and give my mouth something better to do," he professed, gesturing with the unlit cigarette.

She gaped at him, while he merely raised a blond eyebrow and eyed her speculatively.

"I'll take that as a _'no_ ,' then..."

"How can you...?" she stuttered. "Didn't you want to never even speak of it again?" 

He lit the cigarette with the tip of his wand and sniggered loudly at her protestations.

"This isn't… ! You're _not_ funny!"

"That's where you're wrong," he corrected, almost bored, "I'm hilarious."

Hermione contented herself with glaring at his cigarette. What on earth was he doing, trying to get her to kiss him again? Hadn't he said – only about two hours ago – that they were going to try to keep their _one_ snog a secret? She was trying to keep her temper, but he was just so maddening sometimes!

She reflected on McGonagall's words when she had been asked to keep an eye on her fellow Ravenclaw prefect: _Sometimes, in order to initiate a transformation into becoming a good person, all we require is the means to prove we are that person, already._

What scared her most, was she was beginning to see it…

_'Everyone knows where my family's loyalties were during the war... I don't wish for my family’s stigma to be attached to me for my entire life, you know... Keeping up the mask of indifference grows tiresome… I understand what it's like to have the war change the fundamentals of who I am.’_

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione queried, "Why did you ask the hat not to be re-sorted back in with the snakes?"

_'I like you better like this, when you're in desperate need of a hairbrush.'_

Draco looked thoughtful. Meanwhile, tendrils of white smoke curled upward from his newly-lit cigarette. Extinguishing the flame at the end of his wand, Draco eyed it carefully before stowing it back in his pocket. Hermione felt sure he was stalling, contemplating just how much he should tell her.

_How very Slytherin_ , she thought dryly.

"I think I've had enough of spilling my guts for one night, Granger."

_‘I kissed you because you looked like you wanted to be kissed, but mostly because I really wanted to kiss you.’_

Though Hermione would rather have purposely not handed in several important essays instead of admitting to anyone that she had snogged Draco Malfoy and liked it… the truth was, she really _did_ want to kiss him again. Badly. She suspected it would not give her a panic attack this time, so long as she was able to emotionally prepare herself for it.

He pressed the cigarette to his lips and seemed to visibly relax with the second inhale. When he exhaled deeply, hot smoke spilled into the night sky. 

Her head screamed, _No!_

Her heart pattered irregularly and whispered, _Absolutely yes…_

Hermione made a conflicted noise of frustration and barreled over to him, slamming into his body. Her hand instinctively grabbed at the Ravenclaw tie fastened at his neck to pull his face down and she jammed her mouth onto his. He hastily dropped his cigarette, his hands newly occupied with posessively clenching around the fabric on the shoulders of her school uniform.

He tasted a bit like smoke, but mostly like desire.

It was truly a fascinating experience, kissing Draco – now that she was in the right frame of mind to enjoy it. His pale blond lashes lowered as his eyes shut just a split-second before hers. Hermione noted the purple bruises on his eyelids that indicated he had not been sleeping well for some time.

When she closed her own eyes, it was to savor the way his lips pressed against hers needfully. His tongue cherished her mouth in a deeply sinful way that reduced Hermione's knees to water. She could feel her blood pounding through her so quickly, it almost felt like it was singing as it coursed through her veins.

After a moment of fervent kissing, he lightly bit her bottom lip. To her embarrassment, the action elicited a small whimper. Even she was unsure whether the noise was the result of pleasure over the way he was worshipping her mouth, or mild terror over what they were both giving in to. Sensing the conflict, Draco gently wound one hand around the back of her head and the other onto the small of her back, pressing against her. He was warmer than she would have supposed.

They must have been snogging for longer than she thought, because when they finally separated, his cigarette had completely burnt out. He flashed her a mischievous grin and reached for another. 

"I thought you said you wouldn't smoke if I kissed you!" she blurted accusingly.

"I said I wouldn't smoke _that_ cigarette, not that I wouldn't smoke at all."

Hermione glared at him and stamped in frustration over the loophole. She made a show of wiping off her mouth as though clearing an area of infection, then cast him a mean look before she retreated. She made her way toward the first step of Ravenclaw Tower, gratified that at least he was not following her.

...He was so infuriating!

But damn him, he could kiss…

She went straight to bed, feeling she had been played like a fiddle. Curtains drawn around her four-poster, Hermione ran her fingers over her lips more than once, tossing around for a couple hours before finally descending into merciful sleep.

.

.

"What happened here?" Sue gasped.

The following morning, as the Ravenclaw girls were heading down to breakfast, they came across a series of extensive scorch marks on the wall of the first floor corridor outside the Great Hall. Hermione thought of the basilisk attacks from her second year and for a split second, the cruel hand of fear gripped her tightly. 

Padma looked around to make sure no one was listening, and answered, "A group of second years attacked a sixth year who had been forced to use the _Crucio_ on them last year…"

"That's horrible," Lisa whispered, staring at the scorch marks in alarm. They went almost twelve feet up the stone wall.

"You were here last year," Sue murmured. "Don't you remember how awful the Carrows were? They didn't give you much choice but to obey. Older students were forced to practice _Crucio_ on first years with some frequency."

Daphne's jaw tightened, "It's not like we had any other option. It was either do that, or they would threaten your family. For whatever reason, they seemed to think the Slytherins enjoyed torturing the younger students the most."

"Daphne," Padma said slowly, "did you ever have to…?"

"Yes."

Lisa and Padma looked horrified, but Hermione jumped to her new friend's defense, " _No one_ escaped the war without being reduced to emotional rubble. We _all_ had to do things we weren't proud of."

"I just can't believe it was a group of second years," Sue voiced, casting the wall a suspicious look, as if it were to blame.

"That's nothing," Padma gossiped conspiratorially. "Hogwarts will have hushed it up, but last week a third year Ravenclaw boy attacked a Slytherin fourth year because the Slytherin's father killed the kid's brother. He was right in it with You-Know-Who…."

"There's no power in Voldemort's name anymore," Hermione scoffed, feeling sick to her stomach.

The other four girls blanched. Lisa spoke up, "We aren't all as brave as you, Hermione. Not all of us fought against him. Some of us just kept our heads down and wished it would all be over."

Hermione did not know what to say to that. She was very glad when they turned into the hall and she discovered Ron sitting at the Hufflepuff table with Seamus. It seemed Harry and Ginny had not made an appearance yet. She excused herself from her dorm-mates and headed over to sit with her fellow ex-Gryffindors.

"Morning, Ron… Seamus," she greeted cordially as she plopped herself down in the seat opposite the boys.

"Hey, Hermione," the Irish boy replied.

"Morning, 'Mione," Ron answered, happily enough. His plate was loaded with sausages and toast.

"You seem like you're in a good mood," she observed, helping herself to a muffin.

"Undefeated champ, right here," Ron bragged, puffing out his chest.

Seamus rolled his eyes, "He's insufferable."

Hermione started, as usually it was _her_ that called Ron insufferable. It was strange to hear it coming from someone else. "What exactly are you undefeated at?"

"Hufflepuffs have a game room off the common room," Seamus explained. "There's just an enormous wall stacked up with board games. The older students use it to get to know the younger ones that come in and everyone pitches in to replace the pieces that break or get lost. 'Lotta solidarity amongst badgers…"

"Anyway," Ron illustrated through a mouthful of sausage, "there's a chess league that meets every week. Never been beaten yet!"

"Well you did defeat McGonagall's enchanted chess set in first year," Hermione conceded, taking note of which preserves and jellies were spread out on the table. She selected a greengage jam and dragged the jar toward her, cutting her muffin in half with her butter knife. "We already knew you were brilliant."

This seemed to be the right thing to say, because Ron's eyes lit up and he grinned widely at her. "Coming from you, I'll take 'brilliant' any day."

Pleased that their friendship seemed to be intact once more, Hermione dug her spoon deep into the jar and lifted out a dripping heap of translucent green-gold preserve. She let it fall onto the upturned face of her muffin, spread it around with the back of the spoon, then popped the spoon into her mouth to clean it. She abruptly felt a pair of eyes fixed on her, so she looked up, spoon still in her mouth. Draco was staring at her from the neighboring Ravenclaw table. Upon seeing she had noticed him watching her, his mouth turned upward into a lascivious smirk.

She pulled the spoon from her mouth immediately and looked away, her mind burning with thoughts of their liplock from the previous night. An unwelcome heat coursed through her. It was lucky that Harry and Ginny made an appearance then, because they sat opposite her and blocked Malfoy from view.

Ginny wailed, "I'm staaaaaarving!"

"You have come to the right place then," Seamus assured her 

The rest of breakfast went on without incident. Afterward, Hermione and Ron got up to leave for Defense Against the Dark Arts. As they made their way up toward the fourth floor, Ron mentioned the scorch marks on the wall from the attack. "Crazy, that. You'd think everyone would have had enough of attacking each other after last year."

"That's just the problem, though. People aren't sure how to behave anymore." She shook her head sadly. "Everything's changed now. I mean, sure, they rebuilt Hogwarts and Gringotts has finally reopened… there aren't any missing persons reports or body counts in the Daily Prophet… but people still aren't the same. How could they be?"

"They did get rid of all the dragons at Gringotts, I heard," Ron mused. "At least, that's what Bill said. Charlie was psyched, he always hated that the dragons were cooped up down there and, well… you remember."

"I'm pleased they released the dragons, too," Hermione admitted, recalling their harrowing escape on the back of one only a handful of months ago.

"But I know what you mean. Last week, George started talking about re-opening Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, you know? But the moment he set foot into the place, he had a mental breakdown and Mum had to take him to St. Mungo's because he punched through a window and wrecked his hand…"

"That's awful!"

"Yeah," Ron agreed soberly. "It'll be a bit longer before he can get to a good, stable frame of mind. Meanwhile, Mum is glad to have him back home, but she gets all teary whenever she sees him. She cries over Fred more than George does, I swear…"

 

“I'm so sorry,” Hermione commiserated. After a moment of silence where the two friends sank into reverie, she told him honestly, "I know you didn't want to, Ron, but I'm so thankful you and Harry came back with me this year - even if we aren't all Gryffindor anymore… and I'm really glad you have something like your chess league to help keep your mind off things, too."

Ron's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, launching into a play-by-play explanation of how he won his most recent tournament the previous evening. _Really_ , Hermione thought, _it's heartening there can still be joy over something simple after so many things were destroyed…_

They were almost to the door for Defense Against the Dark Arts when she heard herself being summoned, "Miss Granger!"

Hermione and Ron turned to see Professor McGonagall striding toward them, her robes billowing impressively.

"Good morning, Weasley," she greeted. A passing group of third years looked startled at their notoriously strict headmistress smiling at Ron and Hermione familiarly. "May I borrow Miss Granger for a moment?"

Even Ron looked surprised McGonagall was asking his permission rather than telling him, even if it was just a courtesy. "Er, of course, Professor. I'll see you inside, Hermione."

He disappeared within.

"I’ll only be a moment," McGonagall assured her in a low voice as she drew Hermione aside. "I wanted to know if you were keeping an eye on Mr. Malfoy, as I asked."

"Oh!" Hermione blushed, wondering if what they had been doing really counted as 'keeping an eye' on him. It was more like she was keeping her lips on him. "Yes, of course. So far, I haven't noticed anything overly suspicious…"

Privately, she added, _Unless you count the fact that he seems to have performed a complete upheaval of his blood prejudices in mere months and is now interested in snogging a witch like me._

"I understood his father was released from Azkaban yesterday on a temporary house arrest," the headmistress continued. "Considering Lucius's influence on his choices in the past, I was concerned about Draco's reaction."

Hermione was surprised. "He never mentioned it. We don't really talk about our personal lives."

_Unless we are compelled to do so by a magical powder made several hundred years ago by one of the Hogwarts founders…_ But Hermione knew she did not want to tell McGonagall about Rowena Ravenclaw's secret room. It seemed private somehow – yet another secret between just her and Malfoy.

The headmistress regarded her sternly. For a moment, Hermione was reminded of Albus Dumbledore and his piercing blue eyes that seemed to discern the truth from even the most meager of lies. "Thank you, Miss Granger. I'm pleased you have nothing to report. I will see you Friday in class."

Glancing up as McGonagall retreated, she saw Malfoy, Zabini and Nott striding down the corridor to class. They broke apart at the classroom door: Zabini entered first and did not even look at Hermione, but Draco cast her a lingering leer that savored of knowingness. Determined to ignore him, Hermione made to follow.

Nott held out a hand to pause her entry a moment and reminded her, "Remember, Granger, the library after dinner. By the section on medieval goblin rebellions."

_As if I could forget_ , she thought, a little nervously. Outwardly, she only nodded once.

She watched Nott continue down the hall, presumably to his own class, before heading in after the boys to take her usual seat next to Ron. Preoccupied, Hermione glanced sideways where Malfoy and Zabini sat at their own table, and knew she had some questions of her own for Theodore Nott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments thusfar. I absolutely adore reading them. Also thank you to I_was_BOTWP for doing beta work on the first bit of this chapter (any mistakes after the first break are my own).


	15. A Seventh Son

Regardless of everything that had happened at Hogwarts – both good and bad – the library was still, without question, Hermione's favorite place to be. Determined to maintain her good relationship with Ron, she invited him to accompany her there after their afternoon classes were done, promising to help him with his Transfiguration essay.

"Now this feels like old times," he grinned, dropping his bookbag into a chair. "Remember when we snuck our meals in here while we were trying to find a way Harry could breathe underwater?"

"Madam Pince would have been so angry if she'd found out," Hermione shuddered. Every student had heard the librarian screaming about crumbs at one point or another.

"…And all that time searching for information about Nicholas Flamel, and you had already checked out the book we needed?"

"How could I forget?"

"Then there was that time there was nothing at all about the Chamber of Secrets…"

"I think that was a lack of historical information in general," Hermione defended quickly. "Not the library's fault."

"We couldn't find what horcruxes were, either."

"Who in their right mind would  _ want _ to read about them?" 

Ron beamed at her and Hermione belatedly realized she was being teased.

"Oh, you're such a git sometimes, Ronald Weasley!" But she said it with a broad smile and Ron knew she meant it affectionately.

It was just like old times, indeed. Ron was working on another essay that he  _ couldn't possibly finish _ without Hermione's help. Many times she had protested this behavior ("How will you  _ learn _ ?") but this time, she missed him so much that she was happy to oblige.

As he idly tipped back his chair, he speculated, "Wonder how Harry and Ginny are doing at Quidditch tryouts?"

Hermione looked up from his paper, "Is that where they are?"

"Yeah. I mean, they're both brilliant flyers…"

"I'm sure they'll both do quite well," she assured him, making the last correction on his parchment and sliding it back across the table. "Here are some things for you to work on."

"Thanks." He took the parchment and continued thoughtfully, "Still... I'm not sure I'd want to wear Slytherin green for Quidditch, you know?"

"Didn't you have your own house tryouts the other night?" She began to hunt in her bag for her own Transfiguration essay.

"Oh, right – I didn't tell you! I made Keeper for Hufflepuff."

"That's great, Ron." She had not found her essay, but her hand had discovered  _ Hogwarts: A History _ in her bag and she pulled it out.

"Thanks."

"Although you do realize this means you'll probably have to play against Harry at some point, right?"

He looked resigned; clearly this thought had already occurred to him. "I know."

Ron began working on the corrections to his essay, while Hermione flipped through her favorite book to the part she had the most curiosity about: Rowena Ravenclaw. Following the discovery of Ravenclaw's study the previous evening, she was hoping the book might be able to give her some more information. She read:

_ Rowena Ravenclaw was responsible for the name and location of Hogwarts school, claiming the information had come to her in a dream. In the dream, a very warty hog had led her to the top of a cliff that overlooked a lake. We can also thank Ravenclaw for Hogwarts' ever-changing floor plan. _

Briefly, Hermione reflected on a lecture from History of Magic where Professor Binns had taught them that the changing staircases and moving rooms that so characterized Hogwarts castle, had been of Ravenclaw’s creation. It seemed only fitting then, that any secret chamber she might have left behind, would also be mobile.

_ But why lock it at all if it could be undone by a simple spell?  _ she wondered.  _ Did she want someone to stumble in?  _ Without any logical answer however, she could only read on:

_ As the requirements for being accepted into her House precludes, Ravenclaw valued a sharp mind, cleverness, wisdom, and creativity. A statue of Rowena stands in her House's common room and a portrait hangs in the Headmaster's Office. Hailing from Scotland and considered quite the beauty, she was very tall, with long black hair and dark eyes. _

_ Rowena was the first of the four founders to die. She left behind only a single heir, Helena Ravenclaw, who died without issue. Thus, her line was ended. _

Recalling what Harry had told her about speaking with the Grey Lady at the end of last year, the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower was really Helena Ravenclaw and she had indeed, died relatively young.  _ Perhaps that was why Rowena left her study behind as a time capsule _ , Hermione hypothesized.  _ With both her daughter and diadem lost to her, she felt the need to create another way to live on. _

She was just beginning to wonder if there were additional secret chambers belonging to either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, when she was shaken from her reverie by someone depositing their bookbag onto their table. Hermione and Ron both looked up at the intrusion.

It was Oliver Rivers, his expression somewhat contrite as he gazed at Hermione. "Do you mind?" he queried. "I haven't seen you much lately."

"By all means," she conceded, somewhat warily. She was glad Ron was there; she had been avoiding Oliver since he witnessed her panic attack over the weekend. "Oliver, have you met Ron?"

Possibly having identified Oliver as the Ravenclaw boy taking Hermione to the dance, Ron was looking at him as though he were something stuck to a fly swatter. He merely grunted, "Ron Weasley."

It was the most uncomfortable Hermione had ever been while in the library. Oliver was sitting beside her, talking to her about their Alchemy project, and sometimes brushing against her hand or her arm. Ron seemed to take note of every one of these small touches and was busy exploring all the shades of red it was possible to turn.

Hermione knew Ron did not want to date her after their brief, failed attempt at being a couple… still, it was supremely awkward to be sitting between her date for the school dance, who obviously fancied her somewhat, and her ex-boyfriend, who was also one of her best friends.

Finally, Hermione had enough. "I think I'm going to head over to dinner a bit early. I'm starving!"

"You know, I think I'm hungry, too," Oliver agreed.

Hermione inwardly groaned.

"We've still got another six inches!" Ron exclaimed, smacking the parchment with his hand to show how much more work they had to do.

She cast Ron an apologetic look, but now had no choice but to leave for the Great Hall with Oliver. Her fellow Ravenclaw repacked his bookbag with a wave of his wand and stood to pull out her chair for her.

She was not positive, but Hermione could have sworn she heard Ron mutter under his breath, "Ponce."

Oliver took her cue and did not speak of Hermione's panic attack at all. Instead, he seemed to be pleased she was still interested in spending time with him.

They sat together at the Ravenclaw table; it was still early, so most of the school had not shown up for dinner yet. This meant he was able to prop open a second book he had discovered in the Stacks that might aid them in their project. It was this that vanished Hermione's vague discomfort leftover from the library: finally, someone else who used spare goblets and bowls to keep their textbook open at the dinner table!

_ But really _ , she thought,  _ it's not Oliver's fault that Ron's jealous… _

She offered him a smile, which he returned with a genuine one of his own that reached into his crystal-blue eyes.

_ He has a nice smile _ , she reflected, not for the first time.

The twosome spent much of their meal discussing the implications and logistics of what he had discovered, too caught up in their conversation to take note of who else was coming and going from their table. It was only a little while later that Hermione looked up to see Ginny sitting with Harry and Ron at the Slytherin table. They seemed to be purposely giving her some space with Oliver, because Ginny caught her eye and grinned, giving her a thumbs-up. She hoped Oliver had not noticed.

After dinner, Hermione excused herself and made her solitary way back to the library, where she was to meet Nott. He had not specified a time – he had only said 'after dinner' – but she had not spotted him in the Great Hall, so she was unsure how long she would be waiting.

She took out the work she and Oliver had begun at dinner and set about making a chart to explain their most recent discoveries regarding elemental alchemy. Never having had much of a deft hand for sketching, Hermione used the borrowed text to trace over the lines of the alchemical mandala they were interested in.

A fascinating sketch, where the middle acted as the beginning, it was the body of an alchemist shown in perfect balance with the four elemental archetypes, as depicted by his arms and legs. One foot represented water and the other, earth, which indicted the alchemist was grounded in the real world. In his right hand was a torch to represent fire and in his left, a feather to symbolize air. This showed that though the alchemist was firmly planted in the world of matter, he also had easy access to the powers of spirit.

Symbols for the Three Essentials – mercury, salt, and sulfur – arched in a triangle over the alchemist's head and again under his feet. This was meant to display that the Three Essentials were necessary to the connection of the body, soul and spirit – the corpus, anima and spirirus, respectively.

Hermione had noted that the entire mandala bore a striking resemblance to Leonardo da Vinci's "Vitruvian Man" – the classic sketch depicting a male figure in two superimposed positions with his arms and legs apart, inside both a square and a circle. She had mentioned to Oliver that this likeness was an intriguing intersection of art and science, ahead of its time for Muggles, but essential to the understanding of alchemy for wizards. Her partner had been enthusiastic about her approach and she had agreed to do some more research.

Alone now, she was so engrossed in her project she did not notice Nott's approach until he was right in front of her. By then, she had been there over an hour and her hair had erupted from its tight bun, leaving a wild mess of curls spilling over her back and shoulders.

"Granger," he greeted with a wide, obnoxious grin that set her on edge. She wished he had not been able to sneak up on her, as she would have liked to have had her wand ready… not that she thought he was going to curse her, but it was still prudent to be prepared. "I see you were early."

"Nott," she acknowledged, nodding her head once as he sat opposite her at the small table. "The section on goblin rebellions was a wise choice: no one ever comes here."

"That's because History of Magic is possibly the most boring subject on the planet." Theo yawned for effect, as if the mere mention of the subject was enough to bring on a state of total ennui.

"It's actually quite a fascinating subject," Hermione insisted, unwilling to agree with Nott on anything, "but perhaps Professor Binns is not the most interesting teacher."

Theo laughed a short, bark-like laugh and regarded her keenly. "What made you meet me?"

"I debated not coming," she admitted, "but I have too many questions."

"Such as?"

"Oh, no. You first. You were the one who decided to pester to me all term, and then wrote me that cryptic note. We never even acknowledged one another before this year – why pay me any attention now?"

"It's a long story," he warned.

"I have time. I had wondered if you were going to come here to hex me, but then I decided you wouldn't have picked the library as the place to do it."

"Correct as usual, Granger," he chuckled. "Too many witnesses here."

She eyed him critically, "What did you mean by calling a 'truce'? What are we meant to stop arguing about?"

"I should have thought that was obvious," he jibed, lazily leaning back in his seat with almost total nonchalance. "On the first day of term, I introduced myself to you and you rejected my offer of friendship."

" _ Friendship _ ?" Hermione spluttered. "You wanted to be friends with me? Why?"

"I think the better question is: why didn't you accept?"

"Because you were on the opposite side of the war!"

"Correction: my  _ father _ was on the Dark Lord's side of the war. I am not my father."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"You don't," he answered simply. "But I have no reason to lie to you. Some of the most poisonous people come disguised as family, and my father was truly a sick individual. He ended up murdering most of his own children at the Dark Lord's request - including all six of my illegitimate older brothers. No one mourned him when he was killed in the final battle."

Horrified, Hermione could only stutter, "Th-that's horrible!"

"Yes, it was," Nott agreed idly, studying his fingernails with affected boredom.

"But… I still don't understand why you would want to be friends with me. We've never even spoken before this year."

Theodore fixed his green eyes on her face and regarded her studiously; it was astonishing how different his eyes were from Harry's, especially considering their likeness in color and the fact that they were also partially hidden by the frames of glasses. There was a lack of warmth there, which Harry's eyes always contained, a cold kind of green, rather like Slytherin colors – almost preternatural. "Is it so wrong to want to be friendly with someone who is romantically involved with one of my best friends?"

Instead of turning scarlet, all the color drained from Hermione's face at the implication: he meant Draco, she was sure of it. How had he known?

"You're wondering how I knew," he smirked, as if he could read her mind.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she lied.

"I think you do. You're a terrible liar, you know." A heavy silence threatened to overwhelm them and Hermione debated getting up and leaving. She began surreptitiously gathering her things, but Nott clearly sensed her desire to bolt and advised, "Don't. I'm not here to accuse or threaten."

"It sure seems like you are," she retorted, screwing the top on her inkwell hastily.

"I think it's great – you and Draco – especially after everything that happened last year. The fact that you're friends with Daphne, too… It gives me hope for the future, that others can overcome their prejudices, in time."

"There is  _ nothing _ between me and Malfoy!" she hissed in a low voice, her eyes darting around to be sure no one was listening.

"Maybe not yet," he surmised confidently. "But there will be."

"Just what does  _ that _ mean?" she demanded hotly.

"Just sit down and listen to me for a bit, will you?" he requested. "I'm going to tell you some things, and if you decide there is even the faintest patina of truth to it all, I'll be grateful."

Hermione had not realized that she had risen from her seat, but she slowly sank back into it. Glancing around again, even though their section of the library was deserted, she cast, " _ Muffliato _ ."

"What does that do?"

"It ensures we won't be overheard," she answered shortly.

He looked at her approvingly, "Nice one. Very Slytherin."

"Just get on with it, Nott."

"Not very friendly," he tsked. "Here I thought you'd want to know why Draco was getting so cozy with you this year."

Merlin help her, she  _ did _ want to know. She hoped it was not something nefarious, or something that would embarrass her, like a bet.

"I feel it my civic duty," he began, in a voice like he was mocking a eulogy, "to inform you of your fate… you know, since it involves you and all. See, I'm trying to be chivalrous now that I'm Gryffindor."

"The code of chivalry mainly details battle ethics," Hermione snapped. "There is only a single mention about treating women well and it's vague enough."

"Honestly, Granger… with you, I think the term still applies. Talking to you is sometimes like fighting a losing battle." His green eyes glittered, as if reveling in how thin her mouth had become. "The Notts are descended from an Oracle at Delphi. As such, we carry the blood of Seers and have for hundreds of years."

"Oh,  _ divination _ ," she interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Here I suspected you of having useful, reliable information."

"You're fight-mongering, Granger," he pointed out coolly. "I didn't study divination at Hogwarts because I assumed it was all a load of bollocks, too. But I am also a seventh son of a seventh son, with no sisters born in-between. Surely even with your dislike for divination, you know what folklore says about people like me." Hermione did know, but she did not feel the need to affirm this. "With my Seer blood and my birth, my coming of age last June was Significant."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Theo shrugged, "It isn't really a secret that the Notts are descended from an Oracle. Also, anyone who cared to know would have found it laughably easy to prove I was a seventh son, even if all my older brothers were my father's bastards. My father was a seventh son as well. Most wizards don't make anything of it – but I know differently. I can slide between the planes of past, present and future so easily now… and I saw you with Draco."

Hermione was guarded. It was true she did not hold much stock in the fallible art of divination, but she supposed there must be  _ something _ to it, considering everything that had occurred with Harry and Voldemort last year. All she replied was, "The future is malleable."

"True," Theo agreed, removing his glasses to clean them on the edge of his untucked uniform shirt. "But one thing I saw for certain, was you and Draco – and you're married."

Silence. What was she supposed to say to that?

Kissing Draco Malfoy was one thing... but  _ marrying _ him? No, that was totally out of character for her. He was not her type at all: she did not much care for the brooding, sulking, self-absorbed sort. He had also bullied her for six straight years (though he seemed to regret this now) and she could not trust him. Plus, he smoked… and he manipulated her.

"I think you must be mistaken…"

"I told Draco, of course," Theo continued as if she had not begun a protest.

" _ This _ is why you've been so creepy and annoying to me this year?" she scoffed, having recovered somewhat from his shocking announcement. "You think I'm going to marry  _ Malfoy _ ?"

"I figured I might as well get to know you. Draco is the closest thing I have to family these days, now that my father murdered everyone that was left. He's like a brother to me. My mother died when I was young… I do have a younger sister, but she's fled the country. She doesn't want anything to do with me after what our father did. She thinks I'm like him."

"Are you?"

Nott pierced her with a gaze, "Are you familiar with the two-faced god, Janus?"

Hermione blinked at the sudden change in topic, "The deity we get the month of January from?"

"The same," Theo nodded. "One face looks backward, recalling the past. The other face looks forward to the future. My father's actions have consequences in both the past and the future – terrible consequences that hurt many people and continue to cause pain. Once he was gone, I was finally able to gather the courage to look critically at the man he was, the decisions he made… and to question everything he taught me about being pureblood. I found that I do not want to be like him in any sort of capacity."

For the first time, Hermione offered the former-Slytherin a small smile, "I think that's probably the reason you were re-sorted into Gryffindor. It takes a lot of bravery to make that decision and stand by it."

Looking unconvinced at her assessment of him, he did not comment, only stuck out his hand, "Do we have a truce, then?"

She glanced down, paused, then took his hand and shook it once. "We do."

"I'm glad," he said, and it seemed to be the truth. "Draco's friendship is important to me. If you're going to be in his life, I want to clear the air between us."

Hermione snorted, "If you still think I'm going to be marrying Draco, you're in for a surprise."

"I expected Draco to be upset, or at least disappointed, when I told him I'd seen the two of you married in the future," Theo mused. "Oddly enough, he seemed to think it made sense, somehow."

"He  _ what _ ?"

"He doesn't believe in blood superiority anymore, you know. Most of the purebloods don't – at least, not our generation. Not after what happened."

"Pansy Parkinson does," Hermione countered before she could stop herself. "She still calls me a 'Mudblood'."

"A bad habit," Theo waved away, "one I'm still having difficulty overcoming, myself. Sometimes it just slips out, even when I don't mean it. But you don't have to worry about Pansy: she's a sad girl, quite lost. She had the blood prejudice hammered into her worse than most of the rest of us."

Because she was curious, Hermione tentatively remarked, "Draco seemed to think highly of her at one point…"

To her surprise, Theo burst into laughter. Hermione was unsure if she should be affronted or not. "You don't need to be jealous of Parkinson on that count. She gets around, I'll grant you – but Draco's never done more than snog her, rest assured."

Turning pink in the cheeks, she insisted, "I wasn't jealous."

"Whatever you say, love."

"Nott," Hermione changed the subject abruptly, "if all you wanted was to be friends – why did you try so hard to annoy me?"

"Call me Theo," he requested. "It was the only way I knew how to get your attention… and hey, it worked, didn't it?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "And Zabini? What does he think of all this?"

"Don't concern yourself with Blaise. He won't play his hand until he's sure it'll be for the winning side."

"That's so very…"

"Slytherin?" Theo suggested. "Yes, yes it is. If Blaise Zabini had been born a goose, he could have talked foxes out of eating him."

"I suppose I'll just steer clear of him," she decided uneasily.

"That will not be entirely possible after you marry Draco," Theo reminded her churlishly.

"And I suppose it won't matter if I tell you for the fourth time that I'm not going to be marrying Draco under any foreseeable circumstances…"

"That's the thing, sweetheart," Theo smiled, leaning forward over the table to look her in the eye, "it  _ is _ foreseeable."

"Well, I'd be willing to bet you're wrong."

"Never bet a diviner," he advised sagely. "I'm not going to be wrong."

Hermione smirked a very Slytherin-esque sneer of her own that gave Theodore gooseflesh, the hairs on his arms prickling. "We'll see about that…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some have been wondering about Theo and his intentions. I hope this answers some questions, but raises a lot more! I apparently like being infuriating.
> 
> Always, thank you to anyone who left comments - and to I_was_BOTWP for being a top notch beta reader (not to mention conveniently a Ravenclaw). Thank you!


	16. Intentions

Theo seemed to be true to his word about wanting to be friends, because when the next morning began with Charms, he made a show of sitting next to Hermione. Neville sauntered in sometime later and looked surprised that he had been supplanted, but contented himself with sitting at the table directly next to hers, with Hannah.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," he smiled, handing her a card.

"Wow, Neville – thank you."

"Are you doing anything fun to celebrate?"

"Oh, you know, I thought I'd start my day with Charms and Herbology, then sit through double Potions," she replied, winking. "Maybe finish it off in the library. I do like to live on the wild side these days."

Beside her, Theo chuckled softly, "We all know how much you like your private time in the library…"

Hermione would have retorted, but Professor Flitwick chose to begin class at that moment, so she never got to correct him.

.

.

_It's strange,_ Hermione mused, _being nineteen years old and still attending Hogwarts._

She had always been one of the oldest students in her year because her birthday fell only a few weeks into first term. Since she had expected to graduate at eighteen, this year felt peculiar, almost extracurricular. That thought occupied her during her walk toward the greenhouses that morning. Theo had joined up with Draco after Charms; the two of then were a few paces ahead of her. After an uncertain glance at Theo's back, Oliver decided to walk with her from Charms to Herbology. Malfoy seemed to be going out of his way not to look at her, and she had to wonder if Theo had told him they'd spoken.

The moment they reached the greenhouses, Hermione was jumped by Harry and Ron, who were waiting for her.

"Happy birthday!" Ron cried.

Harry was grinning and echoed, "Happy birthday, Hermione."

"We went halves on a present for you but you'll have to get it later. It's in my dorm," Ron explained. They were working in groups of three today, which Hermione felt was perfect; she missed seeing her best friends.

"Thank you. How did you and Ginny do in tryouts?" she queried, turning to Harry as Professor Sprout busied herself with last-minute preparations for class.

"We made Seeker and Chaser, just like we wanted."

"As if anyone could turn you down for it," Ron scoffed loyally. "Youngest Seeker in a century for a reason… at least if I have to play against you, we're occupied with different things during the game. I'm not looking forward to playing Ginny. She's a terror…"

Harry and Hermione laughed and she felt their laid-back solidarity was the best sort of birthday present she could hope for. Last year being what it was, there had been no guarantee they would ever get to experience something this normal together again.

Today they were working with Floo, a flowering plant with magical properties. In their groups, they were meant to extract the powder from the half-bloomed flowers, which resembled squash blossoms, but were green. It was important to get the powder from the flowers before they fully opened, as it would no longer be viable once full-bloom had occurred.

"Can anyone tell me who first discovered the use of Floo powder in magical transportation?" Professor Sprout called over their heads. "Miss Granger?"

"The medieval herbologlist, Ignatia Wildsmith, first devised the use of Floo in travelling from fireplace to fireplace. The exact year is unknown."

"Excellent, ten points to Gryff, er… _Ravenclaw!"_

Harry grinned at her.

Hermione was having a very good birthday so far. After Herbology, Harry and Ron walked her down to the Hufflepuff commons so Ron could get their gift for her. It turned out to be a silver bracelet inset with small blue stones that resembled sapphires.

"It acts sort of like a Sneakoscope," Harry explained.

Ron added, "Yeah, whenever someone is lying to you, the stones turn black."

Pleased, Hermione clasped it on her wrist. "It's very pretty – and useful – thank you both."

They invited her to take a look at Ron's new racing broom, but she decided instead to head up to the Great Hall for lunch. On her way from the Hufflepuff common room, she stopped to use the girls' loo and heard familiar noises coming from one of the stalls. Otherwise deserted, the sound of someone being violently ill echoed wetly on the tile walls. Her heart skipped a beat and Hermione had a sinking feeling she knew who was inside.

"Daphne?"

One last hurling sound punctuated the silence of the bathroom. If it were possible for a toilet flush to sound guilty, this one would have. Daphne's face was pallid and sweaty when she emerged from the stall.

"Hey, Hermione." She sounded like a child whose hand had been discovered in the cookie jar.

Calmly, Hermione reached up to touch Daphne on the shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. "I thought you were getting better?"

The tall girl shrugged. "It makes me feel better sometimes. Like I'm in control." She shook her head and a few sweaty tendrils of her light brown hair stuck to her forehead. "I'm not in control, really – I know that. But for a few minutes, I feel like I am."

Hermione conjured a small towel for Daphne to wash her face with and offered it to her friend.

"It just sucks!"

"I know…" Hermione nodded.

"No, not that… I mean that _does_ suck, but…" Daphne seemed to be having a difficult time putting into words what she was trying to say. She occupied herself with cleaning herself up for a moment; Hermione merely sat by and waited. She looked quite a bit better once she was done, but also miserable. "I feel so alone."

Hermione did not say anything. She could sense that was not the entirety of the statement.

"It's just, I had my friends and we knew each other very well, even if we did sometimes stab one another in the back for amusement. We always made up in the end," she explained. "Then I go and get re-sorted into Ravenclaw, while Tracey went to Gryffindor and Pansy went to Hufflepuff and Millie got to stay in Slytherin!"

"That doesn't mean you're alone," Hermione pointed out, thinking of her own friends. "Look at me, Harry and Ron!"

"That does _not_ count," Daphne insisted. She conjured a hairbrush and begun fixing her locks, pulling them back into a smooth ponytail of the sort Hermione could only daydream about. "You, Potter and Weasley are everyone's darlings after the war – I'm sorry, but it's true. Everyone loves you. You'd have friends no matter where you went."

"Fine, a different example then: Lisa told me that her best friends in Hufflepuff were Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. The four of them were inseparable… and what happened to them? Justin stayed in Hufflepuff, Susan went to Slytherin, Hannah's in Gryffindor and we got Lisa. Everyone got spread around."

"I guess."

"It's true," she insisted.

"But none of my friends seem to want to hang out together anymore. Pansy won't even sit with me unless we're in class."

"Maybe that's the result of the war rather than the re-sorting…"

"But she's supposed to be my friend!"

_"I'm_ your friend," Hermione reminded her. "Sue and Padma are your friends. Lisa is your friend."

A shadow of a smile crept onto Daphne's face, and this did a world more of good than any of her other ministrations had. "I know."

After a moment longer spent collecting herself, Hermione persuaded Daphne to accompany her back to the Great Hall, "At least for some soup to settle your stomach."

They settled down at the Ravenclaw table together. Lunch was winding down, so there weren't many students still remaining, and nearly all the staff had left to ready their afternoon classes. Hermione did not bank on being disturbed, which is why it was particularly surprising when Ron slid into the spot beside her on the bench.

"I'm _famished_ ," he groaned.

"Hi, Ron," Hermione greeted. Glancing over to the Slytherin table, she confirmed a correct guess of Harry and Ginny snogging there, hence Ron's choice to sit elsewhere. "I didn't even notice you come in…"

"No one ever notices a Hufflepuff," he explained without the least bit of bitterness. He began heaping everything within reach onto his plate. "That's why we can get away with things, or listen in on conversations."

Daphne was watching Ron pile his plate high with a kind of nauseous fascination. Meanwhile, Hermione scolded, "Aren't you worried what people will think of that kind of behavior?"

Ron groaned with his first bite of cold roast beef, savoring the flavor with an almost obscene sort of satisfaction. Between this first mouthful and his second, he retorted, "What other people think of me is really none of my business."

"Hmm." Hermione was torn on whether this was wisdom or not. Deciding she would not be able to change his mind anyway, she introduced, "Ron, have you met Daphne?"

By nature a somewhat oblivious person, Ron had barely registered Hermione's silent dorm-mate sitting across from them until she was acknowledged. For the first time, he raised his eyes to view the girl sitting there. When he did, he paused in his chewing and would have gaped if his mouth had not been so full of food.

"Pleasure," Daphne stated.

With some difficulty, Ron swallowed. Massaging his throat from the effort, he grinned back at her sheepishly, "N-nice to meet you. Er, sorry. I… I really like food."

A small smile decorated Daphne's face. "I can see that."

.

.

That afternoon was double Potions. They were asked to split into twos and to pick a brew from the choices on the board.

"One of the most important talents a potioneer can have in their arsenal is the ability to distill a given ingredient down into a concentrated essence of itself," Professor Slughorn lectured as his students gathered into pairs. "The making of essences is fundamental to the brewing of other potions. You cannot concoct the healing Star Grass Salve without essence of murtlap. You cannot hope to produce a Strengthening Solution without essence of daisyroot. The list goes on."

Hermione looked around to note that Harry and Ron had paired up together, as usual. She turned to Oliver, "Partners?"

He smiled at her. "It might help with alchemy, too. I understand there's quite a bit of importance placed on finding the true essence of the Three Essentials."

.

.

After a successful Potions class in which Hermione had decreed that they work on brewing some essence of dittany (it had proved invaluable during the war, after all), she and Oliver went to the library before dinner to work on their project.

After only a half-hour, three former-Ravenclaw boys - Stephen Cornfoot, Michael Corner and Terry Boot - interrupted their study in hopes of claiming Oliver for the fourth in their Exploding Snap competition. Oliver looked sheepishly at Hermione, who encouraged him to go with a smile.

Once her partner had left, she allowed herself some necessary reflection: Oliver was nice, without a doubt, but he seemed perfectly content to let her be the dominant part of their not-quite-relationship. It was flattering that he was interested in her… but did she really like him _that_ way?

She was not so sure she did. She was not sure she really _could._

He was just so… passive.

It was not long after Oliver left that Hermione sensed an unholy presence behind her and somehow knew – before she even raised her head – that it was Draco. She was not wrong.

Instead of sitting opposite her like any normal person would at the library, he pulled out the chair beside her and deposited himself into it in an almost-lazy, familiar fashion. He was not carrying a bookbag and had instead brought only a single book that he placed carefully onto the tabletop like it was made of glass.

"Hermione," he merely acknowledged.

A chill ran down her spine. Draco did not often use her given name but when he did, it was as if he had said something lascivious.

Determined to be on equal footing, she replied only, "Draco."

For whatever reason, this was almost as equally provocative and obscene.

"Recognize this?" He gestured to the book he had brought, and Hermione turned her head to note the title and perceived it was the volume on alchemy that he had nicked from Ravenclaw's study.

She almost reprimanded him for taking the book in the first place, but stopped short when she recalled the small vial of truth-compelling powder sitting safely tucked away in her trunk. Deciding on politeness, she queried, "Have you found something interesting in it?"

"Several things, all in Ravenclaw's own hand."

Though she had not thought it possible, Hermione was now more intrigued than ever. She tried not to show it, but it must have been obvious from her expression because Draco grinned at her and flipped through the book until he came to a scrap of parchment he had used as a place-marker. Hermione leaned over to look at the page, trying not to seem too eager.

"You've seen the classic alchemical mandala?" he prompted.

She nodded, "Of course."

" _Of course_ ," he repeated, amused – though Hermione could not tell at what exactly. "This mandala is one from Ravenclaw's time that she designed herself."

"What?" Hermione demanded, flabbergasted. She cast a quick _Muffliato_ to ensure their privacy and slid the book toward herself to peer at the page.

It seemed to be true. In fading brown ink was a hand-drawn mandala design with explicit instructions copied onto the opposite page. Near the bottom seemed to be a small section for notes that had proven far too constricting for Rowena, as the writing there was tiny and cramped.

"'The mandala'," Hermione read aloud, "'is constructed of Salt (body) in its purest form to bring into the physical world the essence of the elemental archetypes in question, rather than binding an element to Sulfur (soul) or Mercury (spirit), which could have unintended consequences.' ...I'll say! Think of all the things that could go wrong if you bound your soul to fire?"

"If you read on, you'll discover that Ravenclaw actually performed this mandala successfully, with Slytherin as her partner." Draco indicated the section he was speaking about by pointing at it with one of his long, pale fingers. "For balance, she chose the air archetype and he, water."

Hermione glanced sideways at Malfoy as he peered over her shoulder. _He put his reading glasses back on,_ she noted vaguely. For whatever reason, she associated Malfoy-in-glasses with Tolerable Malfoy. Malfoy-without-glasses was generally Maddeningly Impossible Malfoy. She liked Tolerable Malfoy a lot better.

"It's a simple enough pattern," she noted, touching the page in reverence. "It bears a strong resemblance to the classic alchemical mandala – the circle with the runes for all four elements and all Three Essentials throughout… only, instead of the alchemist depicted in the center, Rowena and Salazar have perfectly balanced the geometric shapes specific for air and water."

"Easy enough to understand why they chose those of the four," Draco drawled. "They're less volatile and they aren't opposites, like fire and water or earth and air."

"But what does it all achieve?" Hermione queried, her nose almost touching the page as if mere proximity could determine the answer.

"A contained and constantly-transmuting – therefore endless – loop of wind and water."

He did not seem to be lying; the stones in her new bracelet retained their natural color, in any case. Suspicious of him by nature, she questioned, "And you aren't talking about this with Theodore because…?"

"He didn't understand what I was talking about."

She stared at him, transfixed for a moment. "So you came to me? Why?"

Draco shifted uneasily in his seat, looking uncomfortable for the first time since he had approached her. "I saw you talking with him, before. What did he say to you?"

Ah, so Theo had _not_ told Draco he would be speaking to Hermione about his vision…

_Interesting._

"Oh, this and that," she answered with a wave of her hand, deciding that response would bother him the most. "You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't really answer mine, either," he pointed out fairly.

Laughing before she could stop herself, she granted, "I suppose you're right. Yours seems fairly simpler to answer, however. Perhaps you could oblige me."

"You're the brightest witch in our year. Why wouldn't I come to you?"

"I can think of a number of reasons…"

"I'm not daft enough to believe in the blood prejudice anymore."

"So I am told."

He looked vaguely skittish in the way that cats sometimes are when they are no longer comfortable but refuse on principle to move. "I want to try this mandala out. My alchemy studies partner didn't understand how it worked… and you do. I knew you would."

Theo's words echoed in Hermione's mind: _Here I thought you'd want to know why Draco was getting so cozy with you this year._ Was Malfoy trying to get on her good side because he really thought they would be married one day, or simply because he was a stifled academic?

_Or both?_

When she did not reply, Draco prompted her, "I answered your question. Now you can answer mine."

_Two can play at your game,_ she thought smugly. "Actually, I do not recall agreeing to tell you anything. I merely implied it, which is not the same thing."

Draco stared at her with incredulity. A piece of his platinum hair fell out of place and in front of his glasses, which he brushed away. Begrudgingly, he admitted, "Well played, Granger."

"It seemed only fair, given your stunt on Monday."

This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as the memory of their second kiss now hovered awkwardly between them. Draco looked very much as though he would like to respond with a cruel riposte, but was refraining in the interest of being civil with her. "Fine then. What do you say? About working together on the mandala, I mean?"

Pursing her lips, Hermione really wanted to tell him she would not do it – mostly because she did not want to work with him on something so complex that she would have to trust he had done his piece correctly. This, however, clashed with her vexing curiosity about the outcome of such fascinating magic.

After all, when was the last time students got to be taught – albeit indirectly – by two of the actual founders?

Draco seemed to discern her train of thought. Almost reverently, he murmured, "To actually perform magic laid down by Slytherin and Ravenclaw themselves…"

"Let me borrow the book," she snapped irritably. "I want to look over it to make sure it's safe."

He cocked an eyebrow at her suggestively, "Does that mean you're interested?"

Another shiver ran down her spine, but she pushed it away. Far away. "Interested, yes. But I want to look over it for red flags or complications. Alchemy is a tricky art… we would have to be perfectly precise or something could go tremendously wrong."

"One condition," he stipulated. "You don't share the book with Rivers."

"Oliver is intelligent and perfectly capable…"

" _Don't_ finish that sentence," Draco snarled. "He just wants to get into your skirts."

Puffing up in indignation, she argued, "I'll have you know, Oliver is a perfect gentleman…"

"Of course he is. He's too polite to push for it…

"…Unlike some others I have the misfortune to spend time with on a regular basis…"

"Really," he sneered, looking smug once more, "it's not nice to talk about Potter and Weasel that way. Everyone knows they aren't gentlemen, but it's not very charitable to point it out."

"I meant _you,_ you berk."

"I adore it when you get riled up," he told her smoothly.

Hermione was unsure if her embarrassment was a reaction to his actual words, or if it was because her new bracelet indicated he was not simply trying to get a rise out of her by lying about it. Tentatively, she queried, "Is that why you thought it made sense… that Theo believed... we should…?"

She could not quite bring herself to say it.

"Should _what,_ Granger?" he purred.

Damn him, he was not going to let her leave it that way.

"Be together," she finished lamely.

"So he _did_ tell you. He said he was going to. I wondered."

"Just to clarify, I have no intentions of being... joined with you in that way."

This did not seem to deter Draco much, despite his answer. "You certainly wouldn't be what I would consider to be convenient… and I confess that while I can recognize your mental prowess is superior to others' and that you are not entirely unpleasant to look at, you are not what I would consider to be good wifely material for someone like me."

_Oh._

Well, that was good, wasn't it?

"So we're agreed that Theo is full of dung?" she prompted, laughing nervously as she tried to make a joke of the entire thing.

"It is entirely possible that he is mistaken," Draco allowed, "despite whatever his intentions may be."

Hermione felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders – one she had not realized she had been carrying. "Excellent. I'll borrow the book overnight and give it back to you tomorrow with my answer about trying to recreate the mandala."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Your word that you'll return the book tomorrow?"

"Do you require my word?"

"It is my understanding that Gryffindors generally hold themselves very staunchly to their given word."

"Then I give it. But you know, I'm not a Gryffindor any longer."

Draco removed his reading glasses and tucked them discreetly into the pocket of his robes. Rising from his seat, he gazed down at her blandly, "Don't try to convince me there isn't a lion inside you, still. You may be wearing a Ravenclaw tie these days, Granger… but your soul is still red and gold. I look forward to your answer tomorrow evening."

It was not until he was completely out of sight that Hermione realized he had actually complimented her without being backhanded about it. She ran a hand over the alchemy journal and thought it profound that the last two persons to look into the book besides herself, were Rowena Ravenclaw and Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bugger this chapter. No seriously, it's kind of a transition chapter that was written in pieces because I simply could not bring myself to be happy with it. But... in any case, I want to say thanks to everyone who left me a scintillatingly splendid comment on the last bit.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to I_was_BOTWP for using her beta powers on this chapter. She's amazing.


	17. The Desire To Learn

Hermione packed her things up and left the library shortly after Draco left, leaving enough time between their departures to make it clear that she had not followed him. She placed a protective enchantment on Ravenclaw's alchemy journal to protect its fragile binding before stuffing it into her overcrowded bookbag.

The Great Hall was packed for dinnertime. Harry seemed nowhere to be found, though Ginny sat with Luna. To Hermione's endless surprise, Ron was sitting with Daphne – _Daphne_ – at the Ravenclaw table; she had to do a double-take, then smiled because secretly she thought Ron would be good for Daphne. Not wanting to disturb them, Hermione made her way over to Ginny and Luna and sat down at the familiar Gryffindor table. A sense of pleasant nostalgia settled into her stomach.

Luna smiled at her approach and addressed her, "Hello, Hermione."

"Good Godric, you brought your bookbag to dinner," Ginny said by way of greeting. Then, with a roll of her eyes, "Of course you did."

"Nice to see you, too," Hermione sniffed, depositing her bag beside her on the bench. Luna had turned her full attention to an issue of _The Quibbler_ – the magazine's first publication since Xenophilius had resumed production after the war.

"Ooh, but you _did_ bring boy drama!" Ginny noticed perceptively.

Inwardly, Hermione would have sworn colorfully if she had been prone to such knee-jerk reactions. "Don't make me regret sitting here."

"You never regret sitting with me," Ginny simpered, sliding closer. "Tell me about it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because there's nothing to tell."

"I'll eat a hippogriff if that's true," she scoffed. "I can see it in your face… and if you don't tell me, I'll be forced to use my imagination."

"You're impossible!"

"Let's see… you're in the midst of a love knot. You've gone and snogged Oliver Rivers and it was lackluster, but you don't want to break his heart. Meanwhile, both Nott and Malfoy keep trying to get you alone... to seduce you into joining up with their _dark causes_ …"

Hermione reviled, "You should write trashy romance novels."

"…Nott has offered you sex in the restricted section…"

"Really!" Hermione scoffed, turning red at the very notion. "Considering Slytherin is the House that values _traditionalism_ the most, do you really think it's also the House that produces the highest volume of man-slags?"

"…But Malfoy wants you the most because you're the forbidden fruit," Ginny continued narrating, undeterred. "When you're alone together in the caves on patrol…" She paused, then regarded her friend for a moment, "I didn't even know you _knew_ terms like 'man-slag.'"

Hermione made a face.

"…And to top everything off, Ron has admitted he still has feelings for you. While you aren't in love with him, it's tempting to have a safe option, so you're considering it…"

"Have you looked at Ron? I don't think he's interested in _me_ any longer."

Ginny craned her neck, her eyes quickly zeroing in on Ron, likely because of his vibrant Weasley hair. He was sitting across from Daphne, who was giggling over something he had said and he seemed to be grinning broadly.

"Mother of Merlin," Ginny uttered in shock. "Is that Daphne Greengrass? The Slytherin?"

"Ravenclaw. She's my dorm-mate," Hermione explained. "She's nice."

"I mean, her family never _openly_ supported Voldemort, but they certainly didn't fight against him either…"

"Says the witch who is accusing me of snogging Oliver, Nott _and_ Malfoy on the sly," Hermione teased, wishing to draw Ginny's attention away from her brother. No good could come of her involvement in that. "When do I have time to _sleep_ if I'm meeting up with all these paramours?"

"Sleep is for the weak," replied Ginny, successfully distracted.

Luna spoke up for the first time, her eyes unmoving from the page of her magazine, "I think people are more readily inclined to accept love after there's been something tragic like a war."

The youngest Weasley glanced from Luna to Hermione, then grinned, "If you and _Malfoy_ got together, it would totally be romantic…"

"Why?" Hermione demanded, blanching. _Does Ginny know something?_

"You know… enemies becoming lovers… and settling their differences through the passion of true love? No?"

"Stop teasing me."

"But it's so fun!"

"It's my birthday! You are not allowed to tease me on my birthday."

"Oh, come off it! I did get you a present. It's just here…"

Ginny's gift turned out to be a brand-new, revised edition of _Hogwarts: A History,_ updated just last month. Hermione was beyond pleased, "Wow, Ginny!"

"Not to spoil the ending or anything, but you _might_ be mentioned once or twice."

This was much more satisfactory than Luna's gift, which was an amulet made from gurdyroots that smelled rather musty. She indicated it was meant to prevent random-onset hiccuping.

"Erm, thanks, Luna…"

As the girls finished up their dinner, Hermione glanced again toward the Ravenclaw table. The unlikely duo that was Ron and Daphne seemed to be getting ready to return to their respective dormitories as well. Daphne caught her eye and Hermione waited for her at the entrance. They set off toward Ravenclaw Tower together.

"Looks like someone was having a nice dinner," Hermione commented innocently.

Daphne's pale cheeks tinged pink; it was a very becoming color. "Oh… yes. I did."

"Ron's great," Hermione stated with a very matter-of-fact certainty.

Daphne raised one delicate eyebrow and queried, "Does it bother you that I like your ex-boyfriend?"

"I consider Ron my _friend,_ not my ex-boyfriend," she clarified, "and no, it doesn't bother me at all. I think it's wonderful."

"He's tall… taller than _me…_ and funny. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much."

_Or ate so much without thinking about it,_ Hermione mentally added. She had glanced at her friends from time to time and had taken note of that fact with satisfaction.

As the girls paused to allow for the staircase they were using to shift, Daphne remarked, "It's probably just as well he's kind of oblivious to it."

This surprised Hermione. "Why do you say that?"

With an unaffected shudder, Daphne looked about her uneasily to be sure there was not anyone around to overhear, "Can you imagine me trying to explain to my family that I was dating a _Weasley_?"

"Why would that be so bad?"

"I guess I wouldn't expect you to understand. My parents adhere rather strictly to the old pureblood ideals."

"But Ron's a pureblood… if you care about such things."

Daphne shook her head and miserably concluded, "Yes, that's true, but… no, it's better this way."

Hermione sighed, giving up the argument for the moment. The staircase finished moving and the girls resumed their climb to the tower, reaching it in near silence.

"I still can't believe that you're okay with me liking him."

"Why?"

"Well, you _dated_ him… and recently. If this were Slytherin, I'd be socially flayed for even looking at him."

Hermione had to chuckle at that before explaining, "Ron and I weren't good together. We both know that now. When we were together, I realized that I need someone who can match me intellectually and also make me laugh. Someone that makes me want to continue to strive to be a better person and who will understand that I don't need protecting, but wants to do it anyway. A best friend, of sorts."

Daphne frowned, "So, it sounds like it should have worked out between the two of you then…"

She sighed deeply and looked toward the spiraling frescoes of the ceiling. Twisting a flyaway curl somewhat anxiously around her forefinger as she spoke, she contradicted, "In theory, it was a good match, and I think that's why I wanted a relationship to work out so badly... but kissing Ron was like kissing a sibling. It was too weird. No, we're better as friends."

As the girls came to the top of the winding marble staircase, they came upon a very small girl having a complete meltdown in front of the eagle head doorknocker. The girl was so tiny, she had to have been a first year.

Taking note of the girl's tear-stained face, Hermione went to her and asked, "What's the matter? Can we help?"

The first year stared up at Hermione with wide, dark eyes and seemed to shrink away, her mouth clamped shut.

"I can't help you if I don't know what's upsetting you."

Slowly, the girl pointed to the door, where the guardian silently waited. In a voice almost as small as she was, she admitted, "I… I can't… answer the…"

"The riddle?"

The girl nodded.

"Is that all!"

She bit her lip, her dark eyes full of misery. "I can _never_ answer the riddle."

"Oh, I get that," Daphne effused, speaking for the first time. "Half the time I have to wait for someone to come along and rescue me! Bloody _logic_ …"

"You… you do?" the first year queried tremulously.

"Absolutely," she affirmed.

Grateful for her friend's input, Hermione smiled at the younger student, "You see? It's not being clever that's important necessarily…"

"But," the girl protested, "Ravenclaw is supposed to be the _smart_ House…"

"Poppycock," Hermione insisted. The girl stared at her, thunderstruck. "It's the _desire to learn_ that sets Ravenclaws apart. That's why you wait for someone to come along if you can't get the riddle on your own, that way you can share knowledge with one another and be just a little bit better every time. Now… what's this riddle?"

She directed the last part to the doorknocker. The bronze eagle head turned to her and spoke, "The more you take, the more you leave behind."

"Merlin, I don't know," Daphne sighed. "Maybe… years of your life? So, uh, birthdays? No, wait… that's silly."

The first year observed her older housemates with watchful eyes, but she had at least stopped crying. Hermione thought for a moment before answering confidently, "The more footsteps you take, the more you leave behind."

"Well reasoned," the guardian complimented, allowing the door to swing inward.

"Wow," the girl gasped. "You're really smart!"

"No need to pander to her ego," Daphne wisecracked, and the three of them entered.

Hermione spent much of the evening in the common room with Padma and Sue, working on Defense essay. Daphne played wizard's chess with Zabini, who kept winning in embarrassingly short games until it was no longer any fun. Ernie and Lisa seemed to be leading a sizeable group of underclassmen in a game of charades – Hermione wondered if this was a Hufflepuff tradition, given what she now knew of the badgers' game room and its purpose of getting to know other students in different years.

Watching the group, she thought it was a clever move on the Head Boy's part to begin the game. Many of the younger students still often acted as if they were expecting to be attacked at any moment and there was far less laughter than Hermione had come to expect from previous years. As far as she heard, no one had tried even once to feed a Fanged Frisbee to Mrs. Norris yet this year. Usually that only took a week, tops.

She wanted to disappear somewhere quiet with Rowena's alchemy journal, but kept getting bombarded by people, some of whom wanted her to join them in charades, or others who thought she might have some insight about an assignment. She was wished a happy birthday by several individuals, including a fifth year boy she had never seen before in her life, who also informed her in a hushed voice that he was a huge fan of hers. Hermione did not really know what to say to that (things of that nature generally happened to Harry, not her), so she merely thanked him and reabsorbed herself in her essay, glad when he scuttled away posthaste.

Eventually, she slipped away into the Stacks to find a quiet corner in order to peruse the book in solitude. The journal was clear and cuttingly precise, with each step of the mandala laid out in an almost clinical manner. _The only room for error is on our end, in the execution of it,_ she decided.

"Did you have a nice birthday, Granger?"

Hermione raised her head, unsurprised to see Draco there. In an almost coy manner, she lifted an eyebrow and queried, "Did you follow me here?"

The tiniest of smirks. A slight incline of his head. "Caught me."

"I've been reading over Rowena's journal. It's very easy to follow. Ravenclaw thought of all angles and already worked out all the kinks in the design."

"I tried to tell you that…"

"You did no such thing," she retorted.

His smirk widened into an almost-grin, but he said nothing.

She looked down at the small volume in her lap and set her place marker on the page. "I did have a nice birthday, yes. Another year has passed… it does feel odd to be nineteen and still attending school..."

Draco crossed the room, dragging a second stool over, and sitting beside her. "Odd, isn't it? We were from opposing sides, opposing Houses… rivals, in a sense, for so many years, and because of that, I paid attention to you. I knew when your birthday was, because Potter and Weasley always made a big deal of it."

"I suppose you do notice things like that about your rivals," she agreed, clutching at the book on her lap. When he was this close, it was good to have something to be able to do with her hands, so she would not give her nervousness away by wringing them, or twisting at one of her curls with an unoccupied finger. "I always assumed yours must be in the summer sometime, right before school ended, since you never got an obnoxiously large birthday package from home at any point of the year."

"Right, as usual. June the fifth."

Hermione noticed his knee had brushed hers and had come to rest there. Too obstinate to move first and thus give away that the accidental touching affected her, she went unnaturally still. There was something about the Stacks at night that was different from the morning. It felt less like a library and more like a church or a monastery.

"I felt like I should have got you something."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "We're not really friends, that's true. But we're partners on this mad alchemical venture of Ravenclaw's and Slytherin's."

Frowning, she reminded him, "I haven't necessarily agreed to that, yet."

"But we both know you will."

She glared at him. "I said I'd let you know tomorrow night."

"Whatever makes you happy," he drawled confidently.

It was difficult to tell which one of them initiated their third kiss, but Hermione was absolutely sure that it was everything she had belatedly hoped for from their first – just a little late.

He tilted his head to the side to lean in, pressing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth as if gauging whether or not that was a welcome gesture. When she responded to him, he trailed his mouth, feather-light, across her lips until reaching the center. Hermione felt this was somehow more sensual, more forbidden than either of their others, which had always previously been characterized by a kind of vicious slaking. This one savored of many things, not all of them physical. He ran the backs of his fingers down her neck as he pulled away, and she could not bring herself to regret the sated sigh that left her lips and ghosted across the lazy silence, despite the self-indulgent smirk that graced his mouth because of it.

It was over too soon. She could feel her body's reaction to him and it would have embarrassed her if she thought he had noticed. Her nipples had hardened into taut peaks beneath her uniform shirt and she could feel a flush of want coursing through her body… a heat that seemed to begin near her sacrum…

The truth of the matter was, a kiss had never made her feel that way before. Viktor had come the closest, back when she was fifteen. Cormac was not to even be thought of. Ron – just no.

"Happy birthday, Granger," he murmured. "I look forward to tomorrow night."

She did, too. Anticipation was noticeably building in her chest and subtly heating her thighs in a thoroughly animalistic manner. She watched him go with both reluctance and relief.

Good Godric, what was happening to her?

.

.

_Thursday,_ Hermione decided, _is the worst day of the week._

Her classes seemed to go on forever. Transfiguration with the Slytherins, followed by Arithmancy, then a break for lunch, all ticked by with an insanity-inducing slowness. Draco was in all her classes, yet she did not really _see_ him…

After lunch however, time seemed to be trying to make up for the morning because Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed over just after it began and Ancient Runes… had they even _had_ Ancient Runes? She vaguely recalled sitting down in the appropriate classroom, but had they actually learned anything?

She had a mild panic attack in the sixth floor girls' loo just after class when she realized she had not taken very many notes. After that, she felt irrational and unreasonable and went to lie down for a bit in her dormitory. Crookshanks showed up to accept some affectionate petting and to reassure his mistress.

When it came time to meet Malfoy for their patrol, the cat nudged her fingers with a wet nose as if he had some preternatural sense of her timetable. Prefect badge pinned onto her chest and Crookshanks sauntering beside her, Hermione met Draco near the entrance to the common room. He was leaning jauntily on the wall, his slate-gray eyes sweeping the staircase for her imminent appearance.

The door closed behind them a moment later, shutting out any audience they might have had.

"Well?" he prompted as they began their descent, side-by-side for the first time.

She handed him the book back. "I've copied the instructions and the drawings extremely carefully for my own use, but I'll probably still want to consult that book on occasion. We'll need some time to get everything in order – especially since we will need to create the essence of Salt for the actual drawing of the mandala, which takes at least three weeks."

"I knew you'd agree," he answered smugly as they reached the base of Ravenclaw Tower. Crookshanks trailed about eight or nine paces behind.

"Am I so predictable?"

"Not entirely." He pulled her aside into the shadows of the staircase and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. "For example, I assumed you'd be a rubbish snog. You're not."

He was not even lying, she noticed, her eyes flickering to the sapphire bracelet at her wrist. "So, what sort of agreement is this, then? I'm still not sure I'd consider us friends…"

"Odious thought," he agreed, making a face. She nearly giggled at the visual of Draco Malfoy wearing such an expression, even for a split-second. "I consider you intelligent enough to collaborate with and I enjoy snogging you behind closed doors. I'd consider us accomplices."

Well, that was alright with her. She was looking forward to collaborating with him, too. As for the snogging...

Hermione stood on her toes to kiss the place right in front of his earlobe, which must have been a sensitive spot for him because she could sense the slight shudder that ran through his body. Satisfied, she stepped out from their hidden place in the umbra of the marble staircase and began heading in their usual direction. " _Accomplices_ has a very nice nice ring to it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I couldn't leave you with a transition chapter, now could I? Hopefully this one is more gratifying. It was for me, at least. As always, I truly appreciate everyone who took the time to leave me their thoughts on the last chapter. You guys rock!
> 
> Please note that I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own. Thanks for reading!


	18. Theory

As it turned out, they had very different methods of studying. Hermione liked to read up about the theory before attempting anything, narrating what she learned in great detail so she was sure she thoroughly understood. Meanwhile Draco operated under the mantra that if you could not explain something simply, it was because you weren't very well-informed on the subject.

"But it's important to know the theory before attempting the praxis!"

"Why?" he drawled infuriatingly.

Their first collaboration lasted only twenty minutes, five of which were spent arguing before Madam Pince kicked them out of the library for making too much noise.

They spent the bulk of the weekend and following Monday not speaking to one another. Patrol was conducted in frosty politeness. On Tuesday, Hermione cracked and stiffly approached Draco in their common room. "I'd like to try again."

Sitting opposite from Draco at a table, playing Exploding Snap, was Theo, who wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the insinuation. "The Sight doesn't lie!"

"Oh, stuff it, Nott. You're not even supposed to be in Ravenclaw Tower."

"When did I become _Nott_ again?" he whined.

"When you resumed your habit of acting as a _petulant child_ that likes to make wild, random _guesses_ and can't be prevailed upon to spend time in his _own common room_!"

"Must've hit pretty close to the mark to get her all riled up, eh, Draco?"

"Honestly!"

Theo crossed his arms over his chest and leered at Hermione, "It's only a matter of time before the two of you are scraping together a little dragon's nest." He made a gesture like a mock-holy symbol and added, "So mote it be."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione sneered, "A _dragon's nest_ is the best you could come up with? Is that meant to be a poorly constructed play on Malfoy's given name…?"

"Actually it's a reference to how grumpy he is before he's had his coffee."

"I don't have time for you today, Theodore." She whirled back around to demand of her would-be partner, "Do you want to try meeting in the library again, or not?"

Draco dipped his head in agreement. "Will tomorrow afternoon suffice?"

Hermione suspected though he was satisfied that she had been the one to fix the breach, he was still miffed at her because of their argument. She found she did not particularly care. Rather, it was reassuring in a way, since it seemed to make his motives somehow purer. She acquiesced and then stalked away to her dormitory, where she was relieved to discover three-quarters of her dorm-mates plaiting one another's hair on Lisa's bed.

"Hey, Hermione!" the former-Hufflepuff greeted, jovial as always. "We're trying out new hairstyles. Care to join?"

She did, as it turned out. Anything to get Draco Malfoy out of her head. "That sounds great."

"Let me finish with Sue first. I'll be just a moment."

"Don't rush," Sue requested lazily, her eyes half closed as Lisa expertly wove an intricate updo. She used her wand to plait and loop Sue's hair into something…

"Magical," Sue professed when she finally got ahold of a mirror. "Will you do it this way for Halloween?"

Lisa, whose own hair was cropped just under her chin into a severe bob, smiled. "My pleasure."

"You're so good at this," Padma complimented, re-checking her own intricate plait. "You could be a professional hair stylist."

"That's the plan!" Lisa smiled, then turned to Hermione, "Now, what should we do with your hair this time…?"

_I thought your hair was pretty when it was straight, but it didn't look like you. I like you better like this, when you're in desperate need of a hairbrush._ Draco's words from the night they had accidentally been contaminated with the truth-compelling powder flooded into the forefront of her mind. Her willful nature rebelled against his past affirmation, and outwardly, she could entirely contain her spreading grin.

"Something exciting," she decided contrarily, taking a seat on the bed in front of Lisa. "Maybe we could straighten it first."

.

.

For their second meeting, Hermione made her way to the library with a new bounce in her step, her beautifully straightened hair twisted into a high crown braid on the back of her head. Draco raised an eyebrow, but mentioned nothing.

He had chosen a far back table to ensure their privacy, though a few students did occasionally wander near. Most did not pay them any attention, although one or two glanced their way. Hermione was, after all, quite famous amongst her peers following the war. If anyone thought the arrangement odd however, they did not confront them about it.

The duo seemed determined to be polite to one another, almost to the point of ridiculousness. Hermione cast a _Muffliato_ , as well as a precautionary Notice-Me-Not charm on their table, then took out several spreadsheets detailing each miniscule detail of their somewhat illicit side-project.

"I can render down the essence of Salt," Draco volunteered.

She frowned, "That's the most time-consuming part…"

"I don't mind. Potions is one of my specialties."

"Yes, I know," she answered before she could stop herself. After all, you could not be rivals with someone for so many years, without noticing certain things…

They worked out the arithmancy behind the design together, in silence. Hermione threw herself into her work, determining dimensions and calculating a list of ideal calendar days to perform the magic. She happened to glance up once, only to discover Draco had been eyeing her – her hair in particular – with something like amusement.

"Problem, Malfoy?"

"Not at all." His gaze returned to the parchment in front of him.

She turned back to her own work with a self-satisfied smirk.

.

.

If back on September first, someone had told her she would be enjoying herself running twice-weekly prefect's rounds with Draco Malfoy, Hermione would have laughed in their face, but it was true. They quickly abolished their routine in favor of traipsing a different route each patrol as they attempted to find Rowena's study again. Two weeks in, they still had not had any luck.

"Maybe it's like the sword of Gryffindor?" Hermione suggested, after yet another fruitless search, "and the room can only be found to help Ravenclaws who have a need of it, not summoned at will…"

Shaking his head, he muttered, "Of course Gryffindor would have chosen a bloody sword as representation…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He only smirked at her, his mouth bent into just the exact sort of jeering vaingloriousness that set her teeth grinding.

"What is it about Slytherins that makes them unable to help themselves when it comes to insulting anything related to Godric Gryffindor?" she fumed.

"Why do Gryffindors always rise to the challenge?" he countered. "That's why."

This led to a supercilious argument over the perceived folly of Gryffindors in general, to which Hermione had taken offense and argued heatedly with him. The end result was Draco ushering her into the deserted trophy room nearby so he could push her up against the wall and snog her at length. It was unclear to Hermione if he did this because their arguments wound him up into a state of arousal (she was sure there was some interesting psychology literature for that), or because he really just wanted her to shut up. She decided it was probably both, though perhaps slightly more of the latter.

Despite their apparent chemistry, they did not snog often. Most days, Draco seemed content to let her stew over it, which was exactly what she did. Now that their kissing no longer caused a panic attack or other violent emotional upheaval, Hermione had been looking forward to finding the occasional hidden alcove behind a tapestry with him. She need not have bothered daydreaming however, because they remained frustratingly unphysical most of the time.

She, in any case, had decided she was not going to give him the satisfaction of jumping his bones. _He really doesn't need his ego stroked like that…_

.

.

Mid-October ushered in the first of the chilly weather. Between classes, patrols, the mandala project, and the weekly prefect meetings Padma and Ernie deemed necessary to plan the approaching Halloween Dance, Hermione fell exactly into the sort of busy, productive schedule she thrived in.

On one occasion that Theo had accompanied Draco to the library to meet Hermione, he complained, "You two going to cover the table in your swottiness again?"

"What did you think we were going to do?" Hermione wondered.

"Don't answer that," Draco recommended with an idle wave of his hand.

Theo only grinned.

By now, Draco had discovered he should not interrupt Hermione when she was reading (something Harry and Ron had known for years), and that when she spoke at length about something she had read, it was not necessarily done to annoy him, but rather to review what she had taken in. In turn, Hermione learned to respect Draco's cunning as one would respect a butcher's knife; he often followed up her observations with questions of his own, from angles she had not considered before. He kept her sharp, mainly because his lines of questioning sometimes backed her into an intellectual corner.

To her surprise, she also discovered a very subtle, dry sense of humor that occasionally trickled out – something she had not expected at all.

One thing that certainly did not surprise her, was that they got far less work done when Theo was around. He found it amusing to catch unsuspecting students unawares by casting spells on books, or slowly shrinking occupied chairs. One Hufflepuff third year ran from the library yelling about demons when their herbology book suddenly began acting like _The Monster Book of Monsters_.

As Madam Pince ran after the student, screeching about noise-making and inappropriate use of library materials, Hermione whirled on Draco. Exasperated, she demanded, "Why do you keep him around?"

Draco only shrugged. Theo was tipping back in his chair and idly twirling his wand between his fingers, utterly failing at trying to appear innocent.

.

.

"Trouble in paradise?" Ginny guessed perceptively. It was late October now, and the essence of Salt was almost ready, meaning the time was drawing nearer to put Ravenclaw's mandala into action.

"I can't escape him," Hermione whispered, slightly hunched to make herself appear smaller as she poured herself a mug of tea. She had squeezed in-between Ginny and Ron at a crowded section of the Slytherin table in order to avoid Oliver. He had taken to sitting with her at mealtimes. And in half of her classes. And at the library. And in the common room. She could not seem to shake him. She had started bringing her friends with her in shifts to the library.

"Don't look now, but he's staring at you from the Ravenclaw table with Anthony Goldstein. I think they're talking about you."

Hermione surreptitiously glanced up; Oliver was indeed looking her way. She accidentally added too much milk to her tea and had to vanish it to start all over again.

"Don' worry abou' it, 'Er-my-nee," Ron tried to reassure her through a mouthful of steak-and-kidney pudding. He swallowed at her disgusted look. "Remember when I had Lavender chasing me around like a kicked puppy?"

"How could I forget?" she answered acidly.

"Just tell him you're not interested," Ron shrugged. "It's the best way. Trust me."

_Easier said than done,_ she thought to herself. It was like Oliver knew it was coming, so he was going out of his way to try to be sweet. The idea of upsetting him made her stomach churn. She also worried about their class report for Alchemy. _It'll have to wait until after then. Besides, you've already agreed to go to the dance with him, and that's only nine days away…_

"Guess I'll just grin and bear it," she grimaced.

Ginny made a sympathetic clucking noise with her tongue, as if she knew exactly what was going through her friend's head. Maybe she did. "Sorry I can't go to the library with you today. Quidditch practice… so Harry's busy, too."

"It's chess league today, 'Mione," Ron pleaded when her eyes turned to him.

Hermione sighed. This was almost worse than when she had taken Cormac McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party.

Almost.

Resigned – because she really _did_ need to get some work done – she made her way from the Great Hall to the library alone, only to bump into Theo in the hall. He quickly fell into step next to her, as if he had intended to all along. "Headed to the library, Granger? Want some company, or do you fancy some alone time with the tomes on giant wars?"

"Actually, today was vampirism," she quipped, for once relieved to see him. "Giant wars was last week. You're getting behind on the times."

"Be still my heart!" he gasped dramatically, clutching his hand to his chest. "She _is_ capable of repartee!"

"You should start a Hogwarts theatre club," she recommended mildly. "You can have Ginny Weasley write the scripts… she's got a great head for imagined drama."

He made a face, but declined to comment for her sake, and the duo headed toward the back of the library to claim a table. As Hermione was taking her work from her bag, Theo commented, "He seems too poncy for you," as though he were continuing a conversation they had already been having.

"I'm sorry, who are we talking about?"

"Rivers. And before you argue, that was a compliment… for you, anyway." He leaned back in his seat comfortably, casting a scowl at some nearby first-years, who took the hint and cleared out, fast.

Hermione stifled her chuckle and sniffed, "You're really quite mean."

"Easy targets," he drawled, bored already.

Hermione enjoyed spending time with Theo on occasion, but she did not trust him by any stretch of the imagination. She had looked into his family history weeks ago to confirm certain details about his claims, and had found a moldy-looking book near the back of the library that included a magically updated ledger of all the pureblood families in Great Britain.

The book had included a huge variety of surnames Hermione was familiar with: Potter, Crabbe, Zabini, Weasley and Black among them… but the old tome also introduced the concept of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Supposedly, these twenty-eight families had the purest bloodlines, running back centuries. She was unsurprised to find that both Malfoy and Nott were listed among them, though apparently so were the Longbottoms.

Flipping to the short chapter about the Nott family, Hermione had been able to confirm Theo's claim that they were descended from one of the oracles that had held the famed seat at Delphi. A quick check on the ledger also verified that Nott Sr. had indeed been the youngest of seven boys, and that Theo himself had one younger sister and six illegitimate older half-brothers, most of whom had different mothers, and all of whom had died mysterious, untimely deaths.

_It doesn't mean he's got the Sight,_ she had reminded herself. _You're just fact-checking what he's told you._

She had almost put the book away, but paused before allowing her curiosity to get the better of her. Looking over her shoulder to be sure no one would see, Hermione turned to the pages pertaining to the Malfoy family. It was very cut and dry: there was one male heir per generation in order to keep the family's name – and vast fortune – intact. At some point or another, they also seemed to have intermarried with just about every other respectable bloodline (by their standards, anyway) in wizarding Europe.

The family ledger had revealed only three living Malfoys: Lucius, Narcissa and Draco. Hermione's eyes flickered to the place above Lucius and Narcissa's names that bore the names and dates of Draco's paternal grandparents: Abraxas and Linnaea Malfoy.

_…Sometimes I wonder if it's my favorite food because it's good, or because I miss my grandmother._ Draco's compelled words from the night they had stumbled upon Rowena's study came to mind. Was this the same grandmother he had claimed to miss? The death date indicated she had passed away some seven years ago. It seemed possible.

Shutting the book with a snap, she had carefully placed it back on the shelf and walked quickly to another part of the library altogether, as if fleeing the scene of some minor crime.

Hermione was startled from her reverie when a paper bird landed in her hair. Startled, her eyes shot up and she got an eyeful of Theo grinning at her from across the table, wand in hand. _I should have known..._

"Must you do that?"

"Do what?" he queried, all feigned innocence.

Shaking her head, Hermione turned her attention back to her Ancient Runes homework, trying to work out some particularly difficult translations. Theo continued to try mussing her hair, which by now had reverted back to its tumble of unruly curls.

No amount of politeness seemed able to convince him to stop. The bird made its way toward her again, swooping through the air just beyond her reach. Finally, she lost her temper: with a flick of her wand, the annoyance burst into flame and the burning embers settled in whimsical drifts onto the table. She did not look up from her work.

"I bet you're fun at parties," Theo pouted, both elbows on the table now.

She continued to say nothing, focusing instead on her final translation.

"You're going to need to work on your social skills…" he continued.

Hermione snorted.

"Seriously, the Malfoys like to throw lots of those fancy socialite get-togethers – or they used to, anyway – so likely you'll be expected to attend some."

Ink blotted the page and Hermione finally looked up to glare at him, "I thought you'd given up on that farce."

"Darling, a Slytherin does not simply give up… and I'm starting to learn it isn't the preferred method of going about things for Gryffindors, either."

"I'd hoped your conscience had got the better of you."

"My _conscience_?" he repeated as if she had suggested he had a stuffed unicorn he still slept with.

She nodded, "About making up such a blatant lie."

"You still don't believe me?"

"I'm not an idiot. Draco asked you to make up that story to tell me so I would cooperate with him on this alchemy project, didn't he?"

Theo was flabbergasted, "Certainly not."

"It's rather an intricate yarn," she admitted, turning back to her work to see if she could fix the blot she had made. "At first I thought I was the butt of a cruel joke. Now I realize Malfoy only wanted to secure me as his partner because he knows he can't do this experiment on his own."

For once, Theo had nothing to say.

"It doesn't bother me," she shrugged. "I'm curious about the outcome of the project, too."

"Granger, I _do_ have the Sight, and you and Draco are very clearly destined for one another."

"Rubbish," she scoffed.

"Suit yourself…"

"Bad time?" a familiar voice drawled. Draco pulled out the chair beside Theo and sat, "Never thought I'd see the two of you willingly spending time together."

Hermione pursed her lips at the interruption, "Just reminding Theodore, here, that the current arrangement between you and I lasts only until this one alchemy experiment is complete."

Draco bent an eyebrow at Theo to shut him up before he could make any further insinuations, then turned to Hermione, "You've never thought about the benefits of having a long-term academic understanding? If we can do this successfully?"

She really hadn't. For the merest moment, she was pacified, until her mind worked through a few tiny kinks and she realized, "So _that's_ why you felt the need to come up with such an intricate falsehood…"

"I'm a little confused, Granger," Theo drawled. "Do you think I made up that I was a newly awakened Seer that foresaw your matrimonial alliance with Draco, because _he asked me to,_ so he could work with you? Is that really what I'm understanding you believe?"

"It's a lot less farfetched than if it were actually true," she argued.

"Don't you think it would've been a lot easier to simply ask Theodore to predict you and I would forge an academic relationship, rather than…" Draco glanced around to be sure there were not any eavesdroppers; they certainly made an unusual group. However, most of the student body seemed to be outside, despite the chilly weather.

"Marriage?" she finished for him archly.

His gray-blue eyes shifted to her face, but that gaze no longer cowed her, if it ever had. She met his eyes with cool determination reflected in her own. He only replied, "Indeed."

Theo made a low whistle, "That sexual tension, though…"

"If you're interested in sexual tension, Nott, I would recommend you spend some time ruminating on what Filch and Madam Pince do in their free time," Hermione suggested nastily. "Possibly together."

Draco laughed. Hermione stared at him; she didn't think she had ever seen him laugh before. Theo closed his eyes as if he were in pain, "Thank you for that image, Granger. Does the necessary _Obliviate_ come complimentary, or…?"

Hermione snickered and fixed her homework, setting it aside to allow the ink to dry.

"It's ready," Draco said next.

She looked up, prompting, "The essence of Salt?"

He nodded, "That's what I came to tell you."

Growing excited, Hermione's elbow accidentally smudged her drying parchment but she did not notice. "That's wonderful! That means… wait…" She seized her notebook from her overcrowded bookbag and consulted their extensive conclusions.

"Friday at dusk would be the ideal time," Draco informed her, already knowing what she was looking for. "I checked."

It was Thursday. "Not tomorrow, surely?"

"Already have plans?"

"Well, sort of. It's Hufflepuff versus Slytherin tomorrow."

"So?" Theo demanded.

"So, Harry's playing Ron, and I promised I'd watch," she retorted stalwartly. She never thought she would live to see the day she was willingly attending a Quidditch game in lieu of academic pursuits. Especially not one she was so invested in.

"Next Friday then," Draco pressed.

"That's the day before the Halloween Dance… but maybe we can use that to our advantage," she mused. "There will be somewhat more lax security on the castle, since everyone will expect rule-breaking on Halloween rather than the night before. Plus it's Justin and Mandy doing rounds on Fridays, and they always do the bottom floors first, so we can sneak in and out of the dungeon passage with relative ease." She glanced up to find both boys staring at her with oddly blank expressions on their faces. "What?"

Faintly, Draco answered, "You'd have made a good Slytherin, Granger."

She supposed she should not have been quite so pleased, but Hermione could recognize a high-caliber compliment when she heard one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was a tad choppy... we had a handful of weeks to go through in only one chapter. It's another one I'm not super pleased with for whatever reason, but oh well. Thank you again to everyone who left a comment! I appreciate you so much.
> 
> A proper beta is no small thing to sneeze at... thank you heapfuls to mine, I_was_BOTWP, who helped me out with this chapter.


	19. Ribbons & Paradoxes

The sky on Friday threatened rain, which sent half of the school into an immediate tizzy over weather conditions for the impending Quidditch match. They need not have worried because by the time morning classes were over, the sky had cleared into a brisk, windless blue. Following Alchemy, Hermione scarfed down a quick lunch and went to visit Hagrid with Harry and Ron. They mostly discussed Quidditch and Hagrid's classes, but Hermione was pleased to see that the pumpkins for the Halloween Dance were growing impressively in the back garden, already nearly large enough for the gamekeeper himself, to sit inside.

Later, the eighth year Ravenclaw girls met up in their dormitory.

"I'm so excited the weekend is here!" Lisa crowed. "Quidditch tonight, Hogsmeade tomorrow!"

"I'm going shopping while I'm at Hogsmeade," Padma put in, "I need a costume to wear next weekend and I still don't have one."

"Ooh, me either!"

"I don't remember there ever being a night game for any of the past Quidditch matches before," Daphne commented.

"It was McGonagall's idea," Padma explained. "Just like the new classes being offered this year… Ernie and I think she's trying to run things differently than Dumbledore or Snape did, to send a message that things are better this year."

_Different from wartime Hogwarts,_ Hermione mentally confirmed. She thought there was probably some wisdom in that.

"Look what _I've_ got!" Lisa sang proudly. From the depths of her trunk, she produced an overflowing handful of brightly colored ribbons.

"What's all that for?" Hermione queried.

"Our hair, of course!"

There was some excited tittering over this, while Lisa made short work of convincing all four of her dorm-mates to allow her to plait their hair.

"For school spirit," she grinned, starting with her own head.

There were many things Hermione was good at, but dressing her hair had never been one of them. She watched with some amazement as Lisa dexterously coerced two miniature French braids from her own chin-length locks. In one braid, she wove in blue and bronze ribbons; in the other, yellow and black.

"Got to show your badger pride," Daphne observed with a laugh.

"Absolutely," Lisa agreed unabashedly, tweaking Daphne's nose. Daphne blinked in confusion at this artless display of affection. "Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw – my _two_ Houses."

"Me next," Sue volunteered quickly, sitting in front of Lisa on the girl's bed. "Just Ravenclaw colors for me."

"But the game is Hufflepuff versus Slytherin…" Hermione insisted.

Sue wagged her finger, "As an official member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, I will not be caught supporting a rival team's victory!"

When she was finished with Sue (which took awhile due to her ultra-fine hair), Lisa rounded on Daphne. The former-Slytherin glanced up at Lisa's own braids thoughtfully and decided, "Just Ravenclaw colors for me, too, please."

As Lisa worked her magic on Daphne's hair, Hermione turned her attention to Sue and Padma, who were busy gossiping.

"I've decided to go to the dance with Stephen Cornfoot," Sue was saying. "He didn't have a date either, I found out in Alchemy this morning. Lisa's just told me she's going with Justin Finch-Fletchley as friends, and I didn't want to be the only one without a date, so…"

"Padma, you're next!" Lisa announced. "What colors do you want?"

The Head Girl smiled, "I'll do Slytherin and Hufflepuff colors."

"What?" Sue demanded, distracted. "No Ravenclaw?"

Padma shook her head, smiling, "Ravenclaw's not playing, so I don't mind who wins."

When Lisa had finished (this also took some time, as Padma's hair was very thick and almost to her waist), she turned to Hermione and grinned cheekily, "I saved you for last since your hair will take the longest. What colors do you want?"

"Same as Padma," she answered, thinking of Harry and Ron playing on opposing teams for the first time.

They made an interesting group, Hermione decided, as they all gathered their things to descend to the Great Hall for dinner. Their hair was done almost identically but for the ribbon colors, and they each wore a ready grin, Ravenclaw scarves wrapped around the neck of each girl to combat the late October chill.

"Let's go," Padma encouraged, leading the way.

The Great Hall was buzzing with noise, laughter and school spirit. Promising to be back in a moment, Hermione picked her way through the throng of students surrounding the Slytherin and Hufflepuff Quidditch teams to wish Harry, Ron, and Ginny luck. Then, she returned to the Ravenclaw table to sit with her dorm-mates.

At first, it was a struggle not to fall into her old habit of reading at the dinner table. Hermione had not brought any books with her, but she could feel her fingers itching to flip through her mandala notes, like some sort of addict pulled away from their source. Though she felt a vague ache that she and Draco would not be executing Ravenclaw's mandala today, the fact that they _would_ be in exactly a week, was a bandage of comfort.

After all, friendship had helped win the war… and today, Hermione was required to support her friends.

She glanced up in time to notice Zabini attempting to nonverbally convince Daphne to come sit with him, Draco and Theodore at the other end of the table. Daphne declined, presumably in favor of sitting with her friends; this was not lost on any of the girls.

"You still going to the dance with Zabini?" Sue inquired curiously. They had not heard Daphne speak of him in some time.

"Oh, yes," Daphne confirmed, then clarified, "just as friends."

"I'd like to get on some friendly terms with him," Sue teased, stealing a glance at the handsome dark-skinned boy. Lisa giggled.

Daphne smiled, "Blaise is a nice enough friend, but he's not very talkative. Getting him to be an active participant in a conversation is like pulling teeth."

Parvati joined her twin at their table and the girls were successfully distracted. This gave Hermione the opportunity to whisper to Daphne, "Are you going to wish Ron luck?"

"I did already," she admitted with a small, furtive smile. "He's been teaching me wizard's chess, you know. Blaise and I play quite frequently and he's always roundly flogged me at it because I never really had any strategy. Ron found out weeks ago and offered to teach me."

"Ron is an excellent strategist," Hermione complimented, pleased at this turn of events.

Glancing around as if to be sure there weren't any eavesdroppers, Daphne continued, "I went down to the Hufflepuff commons last night to watch him at his chess league tournament. He asked me, and I couldn't say no."

Grinning, Hermione prompted, "Ron won again, of course?"

"Oh, yes." Daphne's smile, which had spread as she spoke, faltered. "I tried to spend some time with Pansy while I was there, but Pans told me…" She paused nervously.

"What?"

Chewing on her lip, Daphne glanced around again, "Pansy told me my purity had been corrupted…"

"That's ridiculous!"

"…And it made me worry all over again that any sort of relationship with Ron wouldn't be a good idea."

"You can't let Pansy Parkinson dictate what is important in your life!"

Daphne shook her head, pushing her vegetables around on her plate distractedly, "He would never have even looked my way – never _did_ look my way – until I had a differently colored uniform tie."

"House prejudices again," Hermione fumed. "I'm not saying Ron _wasn't_ prejudiced before, but now he and Ginny are the first Weasleys to not be in Gryffindor, since I'm-not-aware-how-long-ago. I'm sure their notions have changed, right along with yours."

"I just don't think I like him that way."

Even to Hermione's ears, Daphne's words did not sound very genuine; she glanced down at the bracelet Harry and Ron had given her and discovered the sapphire stones had clouded to a deep black color. Her friend was lying. She questioned, "Who are you trying to convince?"

Daphne sighed deeply, "Myself."

As the Ravenclaw girls (and Parvati) finished up their dinner, both Quidditch teams got up to leave the hall. Applause erupted, and a few people whistled to show their support. Harry took Ginny's arm and Hermione watched them leave; meanwhile, Ron snuck over to the Ravenclaw table and approached them.

"Wish me luck," he breathed, excited but nervous.

Hermione only smiled; she did not really think he was talking to her.

With another surreptitious glance around, Daphne leaned over to peck his cheek. "Good luck."

It was comical how Ron's face became as red as his hair, while at the same time his nervousness melted away, to be replaced by an expression of sheer determination. He looked like he was ready to take on a joust. He muttered, "Thanks," before disappearing from the hall after his team.

"You _cannot_ be serious, Greengrass," a nasally voice interrupted. Daphne turned to find Pansy suddenly looming before her, arms crossed. "The blood traitor? Really?"

Daphne said nothing. Hermione waited; Pansy's approach had gained the attention of the other eighth year girls, all of whom seemed to be watching for Daphne's reaction.

Pansy continued in her simpering sneer, "I suppose you _were_ always a bit soft, yourself. I guess it's true what they say: you can come from the purest, best lineage around, and still ruin yourself irrevocably."

Hermione thought back to the moldy, old book she had found on pureblood lineages and recalled that both the Parkinsons and the Greengrasses were listed amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight, right along with the Malfoys and Notts. What constituted a family becoming blood traitors, exactly? Did Pansy consider Ron to be worse than, say, a Muggleborn?

Her eyes sweeping over the immediate vicinity of the Ravenclaw table, Pansy's gaze briefly lingered on Hermione when she added, "Consorting with Mudbloods…"

"Shut up," Daphne muttered quietly, almost too quiet to hear.

"What did you say to me?" Pansy demanded.

Daphne lifted her head and Hermione noticed her hands were shaking. "I said, shut up, Parkinson. I can sit with who I want and support whatever team I want… and if I'm enjoying myself, you have no right to tell me I can't."

Sue made a low whistle from the other side of the table; Padma elbowed her in the ribs.

Pansy fumed, her eyes cold. "You've changed, Greengrass."

Daphne squared off her chin at her friend, "I should hope so."

The two girls stared one another down for a moment. When it became clear that Daphne was not going to stand down to her, Pansy made a small scream of frustration and stomped from the Great Hall amid many stares and whispers. Hermione noticed Tracey Davis, another ex-Slytherin girl, watching Daphne like a hawk from the Gryffindor table with an inscrutable expression on her face.

"Wow, Daphne," Lisa broke the silence, "I'm glad we keep you around. You're like a ward against Slytherins!"

Daphne's dark eyes glanced to Hermione for a moment, then shifted to the former-Hufflepuff with cool incredulity, "I _am_ a Slytherin."

Hermione only grinned encouragingly before correcting her friend, "You're a Ravenclaw now, actually. Just like us."

This mollified Daphne to some extent, though she was still uneasy when the girls joined the rest of the school in their tramp down to the Quidditch pitch. Lisa, Hermione and Daphne all experienced brief moments of confusion when they tried to walk to their old House stands, which were located in different areas around the pitch. Luckily, Sue and Padma steered them in the correct direction and the five of them found seats in the front of the Ravenclaw stands together.

It was an entirely different view of the pitch from here. They were right next to the Hufflepuff goalposts, which allowed for a great view of Ron circling his domain with a prowling kind of offensive pattern.

_It's odd to see him wearing yellow,_ Hermione reflected. It was really not his color.

They had got a third-year Gryffindor, Filene Dunbar, to do the commentary: "Welcome to the first Quidditch match of the season: Slytherin versus Hufflepuff!" Roars echoed from the stands. "It's an all-new lineup for the Slytherins this year, with Harry Potter as team Captain…" More cheering from the stands. "…And he's put together a stellar group: Potter… Roper… Thomas… Weasley… Corner… Simmons… and Chaudhary! Of course, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley are considered something of a power couple when it comes to Quidditch. Does the Hufflepuff team stand _any_ chance?"

The Hufflepuffs began stomping their feet and yelling, apparently to indicate that they could.

"The badgers have a returning Captain, Megan Jones, and she's patch-worked together a praiseworthy bunch made up of members from Quidditch teams she's played against in the past. Please welcome: Jones… Perks… Grover… Esposito… Esposito… Walsh… and Weasley!"

The game began and the crowd's adrenaline was coursing freely. There seemed to be a lot less competitive spirit than other games Hermione had watched in the past, perhaps because most of the players were now playing for a House they had never been invested in before.

About an hour in, Hermione turned around to scan the Ravenclaw stands for a familiar face, glancing away quickly when she accidentally caught Oliver's eye. She had not been looking for _him_ …

At first, she tried to tell herself she wasn't looking for Draco, but when she was forced to make a second sweep, she realized it was a fool's errand to pretend otherwise. Eventually, she spotted him toward the back with Zabini, his eyes fixed on the game. She was curious if he wished it was him racing around the pitch seeking the snitch in Slytherin green, instead of Harry. Based solely on his blank expression, she thought it likely.

She turned back around and adjusted her Ravenclaw scarf, just as Hufflepuff scored another goal and Lisa began screaming herself hoarse by her ear.

_We could have performed the mandala magic by now,_ she realized irritably. She wondered if Draco was ruminating on the same thought.

.

.

The game went well into the night, the pitch ensconced by a magical bubble of light. After almost four hours, Harry finally caught the snitch, winning the game for Slytherin. To his credit, Ron had not let many goals in – and the two he _had,_ had both been scored by his sister, who was by all accounts a superb Chaser.

Having gone to bed late – the school had been abuzz with post-game chatter long after midnight – Hermione awakened later than usual on Saturday morning. Light was streaming through the windows and she hastily gathered her things for her usual weekly indulgence in the prefects' bathroom.

Most Saturday mornings, she ran into Draco either on her way in or out of the bath. It was not a big deal – the exception being the first time they nearly smacked into one another – since the boys and girls had separate bathing chambers off the one main entrance. They usually just nodded to one another in the merest of acknowledgments, then slid off to their own gendered sides to bathe.

This morning, Draco seemed to have already gone. She must have missed him entirely.

It was heaven to float lazily on top of the billowing white suds of the bath. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and luxurious soap and the stained glass windows threw soft shapes of light onto various tiles and sometimes glinted brightly off the gold gilding of the tub.

Her mind seemed determined to wander, unable to relax along with her body. She kept thinking about Draco and their project. What would it be like to summon such basic archetypal elements? How would her body feel, being used as a channel for those powers? Was this a bad idea? Did she care if it was bad idea? She was so curious...

In no time at all, her thoughts drifted predictably to kissing Malfoy.

Even in her mind, Hermione could not deny that she found Draco attractive. Most of him, anyway. When had that happened? Perhaps it had started after he had stayed up in the common room for the girls coming back from the Slytherin party. Perhaps it was a result of her unexplained desire to prove to him she was not the hypocrite he had suggested she was. Perhaps it was due to her semi-approval of his indecision about what he wanted to do with his life, knowing only that he wanted to be different from what he had been in the past. Perhaps it had occurred when he lent her Ravenclaw's alchemy journal and suggested they partner up on an academic adventure… perhaps, _perhaps,_ perhaps...

There were many qualities he had that she admired; it was his past that made her relieved no one knew she had snogged the former Death Eater on more than one occasion… and liked it...

...Liked it a lot, actually.

Some of the bubbles in the bath had started to dissipate, indicating it was time for Hermione to get going. She was to meet Harry, Ron and Ginny in the Great Hall for breakfast and the four of them had plans to trundle down to Hogsmeade afterward.

Shimmying into her weekend clothes, she ripped a hairbrush through her tangle of hair and discovered a black ribbon still entwined there which she thought she removed the night before. Divesting herself of the ornament, she did not even spare a glance in the mirror before throwing her semi-combed hair into a ponytail and waving her wand to pull the plug on the tub. It was still draining as she left.

As she made her way down the corridor, she passed by a shallow alcove set into a wide window that offered a seat which she had occasionally seen students sitting on. It was an ideal spot for studying - or snogging, depending on your proclivities. At the moment, it was deserted, but Hermione paused by it as she recalled that Padma had mentioned an incident earlier in the week, where two third-years had got into a tussle in that very spot, resulting in days-long stays in the Hospital Wing for the loser and a months' detention for the victor.

Shaking her head, she hastily trotted away from the spot, as if it still bore the marks of violence. There was no denying that a latent hostility was present at Hogwarts, especially amongst the younger students who did not really understand the breadth of what happened during the war. While the older students had also been deeply affected, most seemed eager to put it behind them as they scrambled to hang on to the dwindling threads of their youth.

Preoccupied thus with dark thoughts, it was Hermione's nose that recognized the musty cigarette scent by the base of Ravenclaw Tower when she reached it. She stopped in her tracks and made a small nose of frustration. "Again?"

Rounding the corner of the hidden balcony, she immediately took note that Zabini was absent, but that Malfoy and Nott seemed to have been cut short in the middle of a low-spoken conversation. Both were puffing away on contraband cigarettes.

"You. Are. A. _Prefect_!" she scolded, stomping over and staring daggers at Draco.

To her surprise and mortification, Draco looked at her as though she were something particularly amusing, while Theo burst into laughter.

"I fail to see how this is funny!"

Without even a word, Draco lifted up his hand, leaned over, and used his thumb to softly brush her jawline. When his hand came away, there was a rather significant cluster of soapsuds from her bath, that must have clung to her skin. She stared at his open palm and realized his shoulders were shaking from holding in his laughter.

Horrified, her eyes slowly raised to his. She blinked once, twice – and he was wiping the suds on her nose!

"Draco Malfoy, you…!" she gasped, scraping them off her face again. "You..!"

"Just let me smoke, Hermione," he requested, his pale eyes alight with amusement. "Life's been stressful ever since they released my father from Azkaban."

Hermione recalled McGonagall mentioning Lucius had been leniently placed on house arrest. Surely that would have made Draco happy? Hadn't he always looked up to his father?

Theo finally bridled in his laughter and looked thoughtful for a moment before explaining, "You know, smoking's always been a kind of quiet rebellion thing for me, rather than a stress reliever… I mean, my father tortured more Muggles and Mudbloods than I can possibly conceive of, but there I was, smoking a Muggle cigarette in his house…"

_…Muggles and Mudbloods…_

Hermione glared at Theo. How could he still use _that_ word, especially with her standing right in front of him?

"Theo," Draco stated, staring at him pointedly, his eyes flickering from Hermione to his friend. The grin had slid from his face.

Theo looked up from fumbling with his cigarette, which seemed to have put itself out. At first, he seemed not to realize what had happened, but slowly it dawned on him. "Ah," he realized, "sorry, Granger. I try not to, but it slips out sometimes. I don't mean it."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hermione ignored his apology and demanded, "Put that cigarette out. _Now_."

"It's already out!" he cried defensively, holding it up to show her that it had burnt out.

With a flick of her wand, she vanished it and turned her eyes to Draco, who was hastily finishing with his own. With an overly aggressive wand movement, she vanished this one too before turning on her heel and making her way toward Ravenclaw Tower.

"Granger…"

She heard Draco say her name, but she did not turn.

"Granger…!"

Continuing to ignore him, she swept toward the long staircase that led up toward the guardian.

"Hermione!" he called.

"What?" she demanded, whirling around to face him.

Draco pulled up short in front of her and for a moment, just looked at her. "You know he didn't mean it…"

She quirked an eyebrow at him and challenged, "Didn't mean _what,_ precisely?"

"To call you a…" He paused, as if hoping she would fill in the blank for him.

Somehow, in that moment, they could both sense that this had become about so much more than Theo's slip-up.

She waited testily. She could hear it on his lips, the way he had spit it at her so many times in their younger days. _Mudblood._ It was same word that was carved into the inside of her forearm, a tattoo that haunted her nightmares…

"Call me a what?"

"A slur," he decided on.

"A _Mudblood_."

She said it for him, allowing the ugly word to hang heavily between them. He did not acknowledge that she had said it, only gazed over, as if calculating her.

Her breath coming out hard, she continued, "A _dirty, filthy Mudblood,_ is that it?"

"No," he answered firmly.

Nostrils flaring in anger, jaw set hard, Hermione turned and once again began marching up the stairs, stomping hard as she went, as if she had a personal vendetta against each of the steps.

"Wait," he called after her.

"Why?"

"Theo's full of shit. You have to forgive him."

"Five points from Ravenclaw for your foul language."

Draco waved this away as he followed her up the spiraling staircase of the tower. Some third years passed them going down and stared until they were out of sight. "Hermione…"

"I have to go meet my friends to go to Hogsmeade," she interrupted rather rudely. "If you'd prefer to stand around ruining your health with your prejudiced friend, that isn't really my business."

"Would you just listen?" he hissed, grabbing at her to hold her in place. His fingers closed around her forearm where Bellatrix's scar was branded.

"Let go of me!"

"You're making a scene," he warned, glancing around.

"I wouldn't be if you unhanded me…" she insisted, tugging her arm back. Rubbing the place where he touched, she flattened against the wall and waited for him to speak nonetheless.

Draco took in a deep breath, "I'm sorry." Her head snapped up but her eyes narrowed, not trusting him. His eyes locked onto to her arm, where she was rubbing the place he had grabbed her. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. His deranged aunt had, but not him; there was no use explaining this, though.

"Will you forgive me? And Theo?"

_Forgiveness is something I contemplate with great frequency._ He had told her that once. Hermione sighed, her shoulders slumping forward in defeat, "I forgave you weeks ago."

Draco's eyebrows raised; he looked nothing short of shocked.

"You were only a kid during the war after all, doing what we all did: _survive,_ the best you can." She shook her head, "It's not forgiveness that's the issue. Forgetting is so much harder."

His slate-gray eyes hardened. "So you'll never be able to forget, is that what you're saying?"

She blinked, took a calming breath, then softly testified, "If we forget, we also unlearn. There are many experiences I'd like to forget… but I have no wish to unlearn them."

Draco gave her a long look for several seconds that seemed to stretch into an eternity. A moment later, a gaggle of fifth year girls began to descend the tower stairs, and he had to wait for them to pass before quietly replying, "I wish you would unlearn that I am your enemy."

Hermione snorted. "Accomplices. Don't worry, I remember."

He eyed her carefully. "Let me walk you up to the top of tower."

She did not bother to argue, and they ascended the rest of the way in silence. The eagle head door-knocker met them at the top with a perplexing riddle: "The following sentence is false. The preceding sentence is true."

Hermione glanced over at Draco to observe that his face had gone blank with concentration. He must have had his routine bath that morning, because his hair was less perfect than was typical, falling softly into his face. Compared to his usual styled hair, this morning he looked almost scruffy, despite being freshly shaven. His high cheekbones stood out sharply, and his skin gave off the faint scent of aftershave under the pungent cigarette smell.

_He's beautiful,_ she decided. She wanted to kiss him, but she also wanted to throw something at his head.

"It's a paradox," he finally answered the riddle.

_Too right._ She had been so wrapped up in observing him that she had entirely forgotten the riddle.

"Excellent deduction," the door-knocker complimented, allowing the heavy wooden door to swing inward.

"Have a nice time in Hogsmeade, Granger." After casting her another lingering glance, he began his retreat down the stairs.

"Draco!" she called after him.

He had only made it a few steps down, but he paused in answer, turning his face back toward her. Abandoning the waiting entrance and leaving the door ajar, she quickly descended a few steps back to him, where he was watching her expectantly.

"I'm glad you came after me," she admitted, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. She did not dare look at his face as she legged it back up to the open door, thankful that no one had witnessed their exchange.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to extent a giant thank-you to everyone who left comments. Seriously, you guys are awesome, and I get so much joy from reading your thoughts. Are you all ready for some mandala action next chapter? I know I am!
> 
> Quick note, I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	20. The Mandala

She was not exactly sure how it happened, but Monday morning found Hermione paired up with Draco in Herbology. They were awkward around one another, especially in a classroom setting where there were so many sets of watchful eyes around them. While she might have been interested in speaking to him about their upcoming mandala experiment, their pseudo-argument from Saturday seemed suspended over both their heads, preventing her from choosing to cast a _Muffliato_ and do exactly that. In any case, they both seemed to agree that spreading copious amounts of mooncalf dung through the long beds of Chinese Chomping Cabbage did not make for a good conversation starter. It was an extremely smelly job and keeping one's mouth shut was preferable. There was also the added danger of having one of the cabbages latch onto your arm if you were not paying close enough attention.

In years past, Hermione would have expected Malfoy to complain loudly about this sort of chore, deeming it beneath him and feigning illness to get a free pass to the Hospital Wing. Instead, the only words he spoke to her were, "Pass the watering can, Granger."

When they finished class and were breaking for lunch, Harry and Ron joined her on the trek back to the castle, where Ron unleashed a copious string of expletives against Malfoy.

Even Harry looked apologetic, "Sorry you had to work with him."

"Really," she insisted, "he wasn't that bad."

Because she was not about to admit that she had snogged Draco on a handful of occasions… and she _certainly_ was not going to bring up that she was reluctantly attracted to him. But she did not have to listen to abuse against him either.

.

.

The week passed slowly. Each of Hermione's classes seemed to drag on twice as long as the last. By the time Thursday evening rolled around ( _Almost_ _there_!), she met Draco by the common room entrance as usual, not expecting tonight to be any different from Monday's patrol. They had not spoken about Theo's slip-up, Draco's old prejudice, or Hermione's anger. Instead, they quipped with one another as if nothing had happened, she she found she enjoyed the undercurrent of playfulness that was now present in their banter.

They descended Ravenclaw Tower, Crookshanks trailing faithfully behind as usual. The sun was setting outside, which allowed the stained glass windows lining the walls to appear to the best advantage, throwing splashes of iridescence onto them as they went. When they reached the bottom of the spiraling staircase, Hermione turned to ask Draco which direction he wanted to take, when he seized her face with both his hands and planted a firm kiss on her lips.

"We're right in the middle of the hallway!" she protested once she was released, her eyes wild as they searched for witnesses.

"No one is here," he pointed out, "and I've wanted to do that all week."

"Oh," she blushed, "right. Um... thanks?"

He chuckled at her embarrassment. "Let's head this way."

They took off down the fifth floor corridor past the prefects' bathroom this time. It was not technically a part of their rotation, as the Gryffindors were patrolling the upper floors tonight, but it did mean they had to take the long way around the castle, which allowed them to keep an eye out for Ravenclaw's study. They did not really expect to find it after a month without any success, but it had not stopped them trying.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Hermione queried, her entire body abuzz with both excitement and apprehension.

"Thought you'd be more excited about the Halloween Dance on Saturday," he remarked, pulling open a tapestry to confirm that no one was hiding in the alcove behind.

"I'm not really looking forward to it, actually," she admitted, poking her head into the music classroom where Professor Flitwick held choir practice, and finding it empty.

"I won't be going at all," he informed her decisively, leading the way toward the staircases down to the fourth floor.

"Why not?"

He shrugged.

"You aren't into Halloween?" she pressed.

"It's not really my favorite holiday," he answered in a blank monotone, "and there isn't anyone I'd like to spend the evening with."

Hermione's bracelet indicated he was lying, but she did not want to force the subject. A part of her was worried what the truth might be, anyway. She did not press him further.

Some time later, Draco observed, "You seem nervous."

Wondering how on earth he had picked up on it, she considered her answer carefully, "I'm always a bit nervous before engaging in planned rule-breaking, which is what we'll be doing with all this mandala business. There are at least eight school rules I can think of off the top of my head that we'll be outright ignoring…"

"I would've thought you'd be used to it, being such close friends with Potter."

"I'm a prefect," she pointed out, stoically ignoring his insinuation about Harry's impressive mischief-making record.

"That never stopped you in the past…"

"I'm not a hypocrite, Malfoy," she insisted, thinking back to the accusations he made on one of their first patrols together. "Despite what you might think, I don't condone rule-breaking, I just understand that sometimes there are acceptable reasons to bend or break the instructive apothegms of society."

"Don't get your knickers all twisted, Granger, I don't think you're a hypocrite."

It was likely that Draco was blissfully unaware how much that affirmation meant to her.

.

.

By lunchtime on Friday, Hermione had worked herself into a tizzy. It was lucky she did not have any classes that afternoon because it would have been extremely difficult for her to concentrate on schoolwork.

Taking advantage of the empty dormitory, Hermione pulled the hangings on her four poster and spread her notes across her bedspread. Crookshanks seemed determined to be in her way, and attempted to make himself comfortable on several of her charts. Finally, she was forced to rustle a blank piece of parchment enticingly before placing it by her side as if it were very important. Convinced, Crookshanks settled himself on top of it, pleased with himself. He gave himself a princely bath, then prepared for an afternoon nap by her side.

"Cats," Hermione muttered under her breath, "so predictable." She would never, of course, have admitted anything of the sort to Ron – who (despite Crookshanks being innocent of any wrongdoing), still harbored a latent grudge on her cat, left over from their third year.

Feeling distinctly like she was about to sit for a very important, imminent exam she had not adequately prepared for, Hermione combed through all of her notes, mouthing the words silently as she went. It was perfectly straightforward - at least to her - but she could not shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong. Would they be caught? Would they draw the mandala crookedly? Were the mercury and sulfuric acid samples she had ordered from the Muggle chemist pure enough?

"Of the Three Essentials, only Salt needs to be rendered into its most basic essence, as it represents the corpus (Body), or the physical world. All Three Essentials need to be present – though Mercury or spirirus (Spirit) and Sulfur or anima (Soul) – need not be represented in their essential states. A crude form of both Mercury and Sulfur will suffice."

Hermione glanced to the small bag she had reserved for the purpose of this experiment, which was currently resting on her pillow. She reached over and opened it to be sure she was equipped. An airtight glass ampoule contained a small amount of nearly clear, borderline pale-yellow liquid. A simple label across the front read: H2SO4, the chemical name for sulfuric acid. A second, identical vial contained the mercury. It was classic quicksilver, neither completely solid nor altogether liquid, moving freely within its container. Its label only read: Hg, as it was pristine.

Not for the first time, it struck Hermione that these were relatively dangerous chemicals, especially the sulfuric acid. They would have to be handled with care. More to reassure herself than anything, she cast a reinforcement charm on the glass and placed them back into her bag.

"Sulfur, the anima, will allow the harnessing of the air elemental archetype," she read to herself, "and Mercury, the spirirus, will allow the harnessing of the water archetype. Salt, the corpus, will have been reduced to its most basic form – essence of Salt – through magical means. In representing the Body, Salt shall give physical manifestation to both the archetypes being summoned, acting as the vehicle through which the more subtle principles work."

She supposed this was relatively abstract in its own way. Essentially, it meant they were going to be controlling a bit of air and water in the physical world rather than the metaphysical, hence the use of the 'Body' instead of the 'Spirit' or 'Soul' as a conductor.

With a start, she realized she was almost late for dinner. She considered skipping it altogether, but knew the magic she and Draco were going to be working with would have to be channeled through their own magical cores, which could sap her energy in a big way. She would need her strength. Reluctantly, she gathered her things back into her bag and set them aside, disturbing Crookshanks to make her solitary way down to the Great Hall.

.

.

As planned, Hermione met Draco in the Potions corridor after dinner. This was in a different wing from the Slytherin common room, so they ran into very few people at that hour. Draco slipped into the second Potions dungeon, where brews that took more than a day to concoct were stored; Professor Slughorn often allowed his NEWT students to work on extra credit projects there. Three other cauldrons were bubbling away or emitting seductive fumes.

The essence of Salt was a surprisingly dark purple color and viscous, like paint.

"I'm not sure what I expected," Hermione commented as she watched Draco collect his carefully brewed alchemical essence into a large beaker with a stopper. "Are you sure you did it right?"

"Please," he scoffed, offended. "If you were going to be skeptical about my potioneering abilities, you could have voiced that concern _before_ I went out of my way to come down here twice daily for almost four weeks."

"Sorry," she apologized, meaning it, "but I'm so nervous. What if we do something wrong?"

"The essence of Salt looks exactly as it's supposed to," he assured her. "All the calculations we've made have been triple-checked or more, by both of us. Ravenclaw's notes were cuttingly clear about the dimensions of the runic shapes we'll need. You have the mercury and sulfur? The charts?"

She nodded, holding up her small bag of supplies. "What have you got to paint the essence of Salt onto the ground with?"

Draco pulled an ordinary paintbrush from his robes pocket. "Nicked it from that abandoned art classroom on the fifth floor."

Hermione would normally have reprimanded him for this but she was so preoccupied with their mission that a lecture about stealing was omitted. They ducked into the small dungeon with the hidden cave-passage out the back, concealing themselves behind the tapestry that led them to the Quidditch Pitch. Hermione cast a disillusionment charm on them both and they hurried across the lawn down toward the Black Lake.

"Here's good," Draco decided, picking a hidden spot behind a weeping willow. The vast Forbidden Forest began on their right and the Black Lake stretched wide on their left. He began unpacking their materials.

"Do you think Hagrid can see us from his house?" Hermione worried, craning her neck around the willow.

"No one can see us here," he reassured her, flipping through the alchemy journal and comparing the page to Hermione's meticulous notes and drawings.

"Are you sure this will work?"

He shrugged, "Not sure at all, that's why we're doing it outside, isn't it? Just in case there's an explosion or something."

"Draco!" she gasped.

"Relax, I'm just kidding about the explosion…"

Still uneasy, she tittered, "What if something goes wrong?"

"It probably will," he replied pessimistically. He almost sounded bored. "Probably we'll have gone through all this trouble and nothing at all will happen. Now, get out the charts and help me draw this. We both need to be paying attention to make sure we get the dimensions exactly right."

Pulling out the paintbrush he had taken, Draco screwed the top off the beaker full of essence of Salt. It smelled vaguely fishy, like low tide, and was extremely gloopy which made for difficult work. Since they both agreed Draco was the better artist, Hermione gave explicit directions with her wand for a perfectly round circle of a seven-foot circumference, while he did the actual painting.

"How much damage can we cause if this goes wrong, do you think?" she queried obsessively. It all seemed very real now that they were actually going through with it instead of only working with the theory, and no amount of past rule-breaking on her part had ever really got her used to the sensation.

"I guess I'm too curious not to find out."

Realizing he could not be swayed into agreeing it was too risky a venture, Hermione finally accepted that they would be attempting their plan, come what may. She suspected she would later be disappointed if she didn't even try… and anyway, where had her Gryffindor courage gone? Her Ravenclaw's intellectual curiosity?

The mandala was meant to face true north. Hermione used her wand to locate the proper direction using the _Point_ _Me_ incantation, while Draco began drawing a straight line from true north to south within the circle, then another through it from east to west.

"In the classic mandala, the alchemist is holding the symbol for air in his left hand, so draw the symbol… here." Hermione indicated the northwest quadrant. It took Draco some time to paint it there; the symbol had to be made very specifically and in the correct dimensions, which Hermione again dictated. "The symbol for water goes in the southeast quadrant, completely opposite the one for air."

Draco finished up by drawing the symbols for the Three Essentials both at the top and bottom of the mandala, by the north and south poles of the circle. It was a very good thing they had nothing more to paint onto the lawn, because the essence of Salt was almost completely spent, the stolen paintbrush was utterly ruined, and the sun was quickly setting below the horizon.

"Now we place the Mercury within the quadrant for water…" Hermione dictated, fretting, "this is going to be _so_ horrible for this section of lawn…"

Nevertheless, she upturned the vial over the painted symbol for the water element. It slid onto the lawn like slime, beading outward into marbles of liquid metal. She was belatedly glad there was not any sort of slope, or their entire production might have been prematurely ruined.

"...Now the Sulfur..."

She pulled the vial from her bag and unstoppered it, making sure to stand outside the circle as she tipped it onto the symbol for the air element. Where the chemical compound hit the ground, the grass began smoking and burning before their eyes.

Draco let out a low whistle. "Where did you get that stuff?"

"A Muggle chemist," she informed him. Then, upon seeing his unfavorable reaction, she clarified, "A _reputable_ one."

They had to work quickly to achieve the ideal astrological alignment for summoning the elements, or the mandala would be faulty. By now, the sun was almost completely set. They stepped back to admire their handiwork.

"It looks like a pentagram," Hermione observed dubiously.

"Pentagrams are used in Dark magic," Draco snapped. "This is a mandala, it's Light."

"I know that!" she insisted, blushing as if she hadn't. Turning businesslike, she instructed, "Remember the incantation: I'll say _Aerum_ _transmutae_ _aquam_ , and you'll say…"

" _Aquam_ _transmutae_ _aerum_ ," he interrupted impatiently. "I remember, Granger. Are you ready?"

Hermione's face was set with determination, though her heart was pounding a heavy cadence in her chest. "Ready."

They stepped into the blank quadrants of the mandala, pulled out their wands, and spoke the words. Their voices blending together, Hermione was rather struck by how similar it sounded to the priest from her mother's church giving Sunday mass.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Three heartbeats later, the air was flurried with a shower of rain while a gale of wind picked up. Hermione glanced to Draco, whose eyes were darting everywhere, alight with intrigue at the magic swirling around them.

"Hold it steady!" he called to her over the whistling wind. "This might get intense!"

Gripping her wand firmly, Hermione allowed herself to be ensconced by their collective magic occurring within and around them. The essence of Salt had turned a bright white color, lighting up the lawn with Light magic. In the seven-foot circle of their mandala, wind swirled like a glistening maelstrom of water droplets, ice, and mist. Hermione could feel the magic flowing through her body as if she were a lightning rod conducting electricity. She wondered if the force of it all would break her wand into a million pieces, as this seemed to be where the majority of her magical energy was stemming from.

It was like nothing she had ever seen or experienced before. It was beautiful, almost beyond words or expression.

A gentle, warming breeze floated softly within the circle and lifted her feet from the grass, suspending her in mid-air. Keeping her wits (and her wand hand) steady, Hermione fought against the sudden dread bubbling in her chest. She had not expected _this_... would she be able to get back down? She had always hated heights… would she be injured?

Her minute of panic threatened to overwhelm her - until she looked over at Draco.

His feet had left the ground as well, but instead of appearing terrified like she felt, he was smiling in such a genuine, artless way that she could not doubt the sincerity of his emotion. He was enthralled; the fact that his feet no longer had contact with the ground seemed only to delight him.

The sun sank below the horizon and the pale moon came into view like a great, white ship coming into port. Its presence was reassuring somehow, like the warm breeze and Draco's entrancing grin. The night was clear, so that the mountains appeared closer than they were, permanent sentinels in the distant mists. All the while, the ethereal maelstrom of air, water, and magic swirled around like a metaphysical dance in the midnight sky.

"It's fantastic," Hermione whispered. She knew Draco could not hear her, but she still felt the need to affirm it anyway. Her eyes locked into him for a moment, taking note of the fact that his hair and robes were kissed with dew-like droplets of ice that sparkled in the moonlight.

_This_ _is_ _the_ _most_ _wonderful_ _thing_ _I've_ _ever_ _done_ _with_ _magic_ , she decided firmly and, finally letting her elation free, she laughed with palpable open-heartedness.

They grinned triumphantly at one another. The breezes surrounding them were soft and comforting and wonderful; their bodies were alive with magic and exhilaration.

She should have known it was too good to last.

"Is that what I think it is?" Draco had to yell the question twice to be heard. Hermione's eyes flickered to the edge of the wood, suddenly worried they had been discovered by a teacher or a dangerous creature that lived in the Forbidden Forest.

It was not hard to determine what Draco was referring to. The unicorn was almost as bright as the moon, and whiter than snow. Like a veela, it gave off a kind of silvery glow that was empyrean in the night.

"It's one of the unicorns Hagrid got for Care of Magical Creatures," she realized, recalling the day the gamekeeper had allowed her to approach them and feed them sugar cubes. She had patted their noses and made friends with the beautiful animals, but now its presence caused her pulse to quicken. "It must have been attracted by the Light magic!"

Hermione had rarely felt so powerless, watching the creature amble toward their mandala with an almost fatuous innocence. She longed to have her feet on the ground once more, the feeling of dread from moments ago creeping back into her chest.

"We need to stop this!" she screamed to Draco. He was watching the unicorn's progress toward them with a kind of blank horror, like someone witnessing a car crash.

"Granger," he said slowly, as if he had not heard her, "you know in runic lore, unicorns represent…"

"For Agrippa's sake, Malfoy, I _know_! We need to stop this thing _now_!"

"Right," he realized, coming to his senses. "Ready?"

The unicorn's horn pierced the maelstrom. The entire swirling mass of air and water seemed to bend inward at this penetration and suddenly the warming breeze and the cool droplets became, at once, both scalding and freezing.

" _Aquam_ _cessavitae_ _aerum_."

" _Aerum_ _cessavitae_ _aquam_."

Two sets of feet gently came to rest back on the ground and the unicorn bolted into the Forbidden Forest as though it had been whipped. The mandala and their summoning materials had vanished without a trace.

Hermione's hands were shaking as she continued to tightly grip her wand, eyes cast down at the grass. Her entire body felt strange, like she had got a full-body tattoo all at once, while her very essence seemed to be oozing leftover magic.

"That was bad," she muttered. "That was really bad."

"Probably," Draco agreed. "What happened when it came into the mandala?"

Biting her lip, Hermione tentatively replied, "I'm not sure."

"I feel," he began, then haltingly continued, "tingly and strange. Like all my skin has been violated at the same time."

"So do I…" She suddenly felt feeble and debilitated, "I'm also exhausted."

Draco released a low, sepulchral groan and effused, "Me too."

"It's probably the magic... it can cause... a huge drain on your energy…"

"We can't stay here," he decided sensibly, his gray eyes heavy like bleak ossuaries.

She only nodded in agreement, too tired to form words. Gathering their remaining supplies, she attempted to perform another disillusionment charm on them, but failed.

"We'll just have to be careful," Draco slurred sleepily. "Stop trying to cast that before you accidentally hex us."

The trudge up to the castle seemed to take forever, and the energy required to attempt stealth was even more taxing once they were inside. Fortunately, they only came across the Bloody Baron floating ghoulishly along the fourth floor corridor. He watched their progress wordlessly with his wide, transparent eyes.

"Does he really… tell stories… on F-F-Fr-Fridays?" Hermione yawned widely, her scattered thoughts recalling her conversation with Ginny.

"Every week," Draco confirmed, yawning in response.

When they reached the eagle head door-knocker, they were both relieved when the guardian decided to posit an easy question to them: "The more of me, the less you see…"

"Darkness," Draco murmured quietly. Hermione had never seen him appear so exhausted, so much less put-together than usual, almost worse than he had for much of sixth year, when Voldemort had been threatening him and his family.

The door swung open. Hermione put a hand on Draco's shoulder to pause him a moment, and a spark of electricity shocked them both where she had touched. Frowning, she removed her hand. "We'll figure this out tomorrow… with what happened, I mean…"

He nodded, "Maybe it was nothing."

Hermione had an ominous feeling that the consequences of a unicorn stepping into their mandala would not simply be _nothing_ , but she was too exhausted to string together two coherent thoughts, let alone bend her brain into solving an alchemical mystery. Diplomatically, she replied only, "Maybe."

They managed to slip into the common room relatively unnoticed, heading straight to their respective dormitories. Everything seemed overly bright and offensive to her tired eyes. Shucking off her shoes, Hermione was too fagged to engage in any of the gossip Lisa, Sue and Daphne were partaking in.

"Come on, Hermione!" Lisa called jovially. "We're comparing outfits for the Halloween Dance tomorrow!"

"Sorry," she mumbled incoherently. "Super tired…"

Climbing into bed and pulling the curtains around her, Hermione did not even remember hitting the pillow before she was fast asleep, too tired to dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, just wanted to say again how much I appreciate everyone who commented. Your words of encouragement mean more than you know. Additionally, I know I put a lot of “alchemy” in this chapter - there’s even a sort-of review partway though this chapter, but honestly, the nitty-gritty details are only kind of important to the fic, so if it’s still not clicking, no worries. I’d also be happy to clear up any questions. I love this stuff.
> 
> Two other things: 1) I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own. 2) I have brand-new, sparkly cover art for this fic, which I’ve posted on here if anyone wants to check it out! Thank you to Witches_Britches for helping me out with it, it looks awesome.


	21. I Think You're Brave

The next morning, Hermione awoke in a state of dubious fuzziness. Like the last pieces of a puzzle finally being slotted into place, her memories of the previous evening filtered back in sections. She sat up, immediately feeling as if she had been steamrollered by the Hogwarts Express, and groaned. Groggily taking in her surroundings, it took an abnormal amount of time for her to recognize the hangings of her four-poster. _I feel like I've been drugged..._

When she finally got out of bed, it was done gingerly, like an old woman who had seen far more than her share of the world. The paleness of the sunshine eking in through the tall windows of the dormitory indicated it was still early morning. A glance around the room reassured her that all four of her dorm-mates were still asleep. She looked to the clock; it was barely five, but she was undeniably awake.

Her entire body, but especially at her joints, felt awful. She could almost feel her bones grinding against one another.

_Bath,_ she decided firmly, gathering her things.

The walk to the prefects' bathroom was slow going at first due to how sore she was, but before long she was giving the password to the statue of Boris the Bewildered and heading to the girls' side. Sliding the sign across the heavy wooden door that marked the bath 'Occupied,' she settled onto the long bench to undress while the tub filled up with steaming water and her favorite jasmine-scented bubbles.

She was still wearing last night's clothes, having been too exhausted to remove them before falling into the comfort of her bed. Peeling off her socks, she found that her feet were damp from the previous evening, leaving her skin pale and clammy.

_Gross,_ she thought honestly, wrinkling her nose as she shimmied out of her jeans. She was about to remove her jumper when she noted a long mark on her thigh and leaned down to examine it; it was faded and white, like a scar from many years ago, but she could not remember ever noticing it before. About six inches long and jagged, she traced the scar with her forefinger in confusion.

"Strange," she murmured, "and concerning..."

Furrowing her brow, she reached for the hem of her jumper and yanked it over her head, releasing a faceful of curls into her eyes as she did. She lifted her right arm to push her tangle of locks from her face and noticed with a start that there was now _another_ new scar right beside her 'Mudblood' one. Doing her best to ignore the reminder of Bellatrix's elitist hatred, Hermione ran her fingers over the new marking: a half-moon of pale tissue. It almost looked like she had been struck by something that wore horseshoes, perhaps a handful of years ago…

Like a horse…

…Or a hippogriff.

That was when it clicked. Heartbeat suddenly audible in her ears, she steeled herself before turning over her left arm to look at the inner forearm. There – glowering at her with blatant hatred for her very existence – was the Dark Mark.

She quickly stifled an inadvertent scream. The muffled sound seemed magnified on the tile of the bathroom and ricocheted around, far louder than she would wish.

"Oh no, _oh no,_ oh no!" she gasped, unable to tear her eyes from the horrible blemish.

Just then, there was a pounding on the door and Hermione could hear Draco's voice shouting, "Granger! I know you're in there!"

Hands shaking and mind spinning, Hermione rose with trepidation to make her way to the door. At the last minute, she remembered she was only wearing her knickers and a thin undershirt, so she quickly donned her dressing gown. He pounded on the door again.

Opening the entryway a crack, she peeked out into the foyer. Draco was standing there, looking livid. Despite her immediate protestations, he pushed his way into the girls' bath and shut the door behind them.

" _What_ is _this_ , Granger?" he hissed angrily. His right sleeve had already been rolled up to reveal the hauntingly familiar letters, now carved into _his_ flesh: Mudblood.

Voice shaking, she challenged, "Well... h-how about _this_?"

She rolled back the sleeve of her dressing gown to reveal the slightly faded, ugly tattoo on the inside of her otherwise-unmarred left forearm, swallowing some bile that rose at her second sighting of it.

Draco stared at the mark for a long moment as if he could not believe his eyes. Eventually, he swore, "Well, shit."

She nodded at his accuracy.

Pulling up his other sleeve, Draco confirmed that his own mark was still there. The identical Dark Marks seemed to leer at one another, but Hermione's eyes were fixed instead on the grotesquely carved 'Mudblood' slur that Draco's right arm now bore, in mirror of her own.

"What have we done?" His quiet whisper pulled her from the dark thoughts swirling through her mind.

Realizing he was asking for her take on their predicament, her mind scrambled for a logical explanation, or at least a decent theory. She hesitated, "Well… you remember the unicorn, of course. If you recall from Ancient Runes, the unicorn's single horn represents the number one, in runic scripture… just like how the runespoor's three heads represent the number three, and the quintaped's five legs represent the number five, and…

"I remember," he interrupted curtly. "Professor Babbling taught us that in fifth year."

"Yes, well, I worry that perhaps we've somehow combined… ourselves. Our bodies, rather, because we were using the essence of Salt. You know - the Body of alchemy?"

He cursed so colorfully then, Hermione disconnectedly thought that even Ron would have been impressed.

When he had finished, she timidly pointed out, "Be thankful we weren't harnessing anything through the Spirit or the Soul."

Draco remained stonily detached from this logic. "What should we do?"

Hermione took a deep breath, "We need to talk to McGonagall. Explain what happened." She glanced down at the Dark Mark burned into her arm and felt again that she might be sick. "See if there's a way we can reverse this."

Her forearm was suddenly cloaked by Draco's hands, as if to hide the mark. She looked up at him questioningly, eyes searching. He explained, "You were never supposed to see it."

"I already knew you had it," she reasoned.

"But you weren't supposed to actually _see_ it." She noticed his own fingers seemed to be vibrating with anger as he rolled down the sleeve of her dressing gown to cover the gruesome brand. "I hate it, too. It's a reminder of…" He stopped short and looked away, though his fingers were still touching her arm.

"Of?" she prompted, feeling he was on the verge of revealing something important.

Begrudgingly he spat out, "Of how many stupid mistakes I've already made in this life. Of the irreparable damage I've caused. Of the evil I've contaminated myself with. Take your pick..."

"Draco," Hermione insisted, taking his quaking hand in both of hers, "no one chooses evil because it's evil, they only mistake it for the good they seek."

His eyebrows contracted together and he glanced up. For a moment, neither of them said a word. Finally, with a sigh, he advised, "Take your bath, Granger. Then we'll find McGonagall, as you suggest… though I suspect we will regret it once her wrath descends on us."

"I _am_ very sore," she admitted, dropping his hand and hoping he understood what she had been trying to tell him. "Every single one of my joints feels like it's on fire… almost like…"

"Arthritis?" he suggested blandly.

"Well… yes, actually."

He looked disgusted with himself, "I'm sorry that you've had _that_ forced on you because of me, too."

She raised her eyebrows, "You have arthritis? But you're only… what? Eighteen?"

"That's what happens when you've been subjected to a few too many _Crucio_ …"

"That's awful!" she gasped, feeling her bones creaking sympathetically. "Why haven't you sought treatment for that? I'm sure there are spells - or at least potions. You could…"

"There _are_ potions, but they can only be used sparingly," he snapped. Softening, he added, "They're very easy to build up an immunity to." He turned away, as if unwilling to accept her compassion. "You'll feel a bit better after a hot bath. I'll meet you outside the door in an hour?"

"Alright," she agreed, watching him go with a kind of morbid fascination.

After he shut the door behind himself, she waited a few moments to be sure he would not come back before divesting herself of her dressing gown and remaining garments.

_So this is what it's like being Draco Malfoy,_ she ruminated, feeling suddenly apprehensive about shedding her knickers and tank top. She did so slowly, the arthritis causing her fingers to feel unsteady even when going about the routine motions of her life. She let out a small gasp when she glanced at her naked self in the mirror, taking note of the long, hairline scar that ran from her right shoulder to her left hip. _This must have been from the day Harry attacked him in the bathroom with Sectumsempra…_

Her fingers traced the mark, pausing over the place where the scar puckered at her chest, where the wound had been the deepest. Draco was lucky to be alive, with how close it was to his heart. What must those moments have been like for him? Feeling she was somehow violating his privacy, she hastily pulled her fingers away, eyes scanning her nakedness. Between the _Sectumsempra_ scar, the mirrored forearm marks, and the numerous tiny burn-marks that littered her body, left over from when she had been buried in burning treasure at Gringotts only months ago - she felt sullied. Like her body might never be truly _clean_ again.

Turning away from the mirror, Hermione made her way to the bath. Sliding into the gilded bath, she felt instant relief flood her body, especially around her aching joints. _Really,_ she thought sadly as she halfheartedly paddled toward the center of the enormous tub, _he must be in almost constant discomfort..._

.

.

"I have _never,_ in all my years of teaching, been so _impressed_ by a pair of students' magic and so _utterly disappointed_ at their sheer _stupidity_ at the same time!"

Hermione looked at her feet, tears of shame pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"As prefects," Professor McGonagall continued, nostrils flaring, "you both ought to have _known better._ Under usual circumstances, I would consider that you would both best be served by stripping you of that rank."

Draco's face remained blank. Hermione let out a small sniffle, but nodded as if she had seen that coming.

" _However,_ because I have a greater desire to keep this foolishness a secret from the rest of the school – lest some _truly_ half-witted students deign to take it upon themselves to emulate you – you will continue with your duties as before. You will not speak of this incident, unless absolutely necessary. I will instead be taking fifty points from Ravenclaw, _each._ " McGonagall's expression softened somewhat. "I will also be pairing the two of you together for the second half of the year in Alchemy, so that you may at least be able to spend an acceptable amount of time attempting to find a way to reverse this debacle."

Hermione's eyes were still rooted to her feet as she struggled to keep her dismay off of her face. Fifty points _each_ would certainly not go unnoticed by their peers… and Ravenclaw had been ahead of the rest, but only just… now they would be last...

All concern over something as trivial as House points dissipated with the professor's next words: "I will, of course, also have to inform your parents."

Draco visibly blanched. "You don't. We're both of age."

Hermione had to admire his courage in contradicting McGonagall when she looked about as affable as a mother dragon whose eggs had been compromised. Still, it was a valid point - she was just glad he had made it instead of her.

"When this school was founded, Mr. Malfoy, there were a great many laws enacted along with it. One such law was that, _regardless of age,_ if potentially irreversible damage were done to a student whilst they inhabit these walls, their guardians _must_ be informed of it. Muggle or otherwise."

"Potentially irreversible?" Draco repeated, looking stricken.

"It _is_ possible that the physical bond you and Miss Granger have so foolishly forged is permanent, yes."

_She thinks there's a chance I'll be stuck with that thing on my arm forever._ Hermione let out a second sniffle; Draco only continued to scowl.

Professor McGonagall surveyed the pair of them with a stony gaze. "Considering what befell Hogwarts Castle this past May, Mr. Malfoy, you will understand that I am loathe to invite your parents up to the school. Additionally, Miss Granger, as your parents are Muggles they will be unable to set foot onto the grounds."

Hermione could only nod glumly, her gaze arrested by the place on her forearm where her sleeve covered her newly inherited Dark Mark.

"I will therefore be requesting that both your parents meet the three of us in Hogsmeade tomorrow afternoon."

Draco stiffened visibly, glancing swiftly to Hermione then back. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Professor…"

"You will forgive me, Mr. Malfoy, if I decide not to take your advice on what may or may not be considered _a good idea,_ in light of recent events," the headmistress answered tersely.

Draco's mouth clamped shut and he, too, began staring at his shoes, though the pink tinge to his cheeks bespoke an unsubtle anger.

"Tomorrow, you will both report to my office at quarter of noon. I do not think the results of this fiasco are likely to strengthen with time, however there may be unforeseen consequences of such an incident. I am friendly with an alchemist who practices out of Ireland, and will be sending him an express owl for advice on what the best course of action might be, going forward."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione spoke up in a very small voice.

"I trust the lesson here is learned, and I do not need to take further punishment?"

They both nodded.

"Very well. You may leave, Mr. Malfoy. I have one additional thing to say to Miss Granger, in private."

Draco stood, placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder for strength, then seemed to realize what he had done because he quickly removed it and quit the room. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes to Hermione; she nearly felt as if a piece of her aching heart went with him as he left.

The moment the door shut behind Draco, McGonagall turned to her student, "When I requested that you keep an eye on Mr. Malfoy for me, this was not what I had in mind, Miss Granger."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione answered, contrite.

"You have… come to care for him, perhaps?"

"Oh," she gasped, taken aback by the directness of the approach. "Perhaps – I mean, in a friendly way. That is... he is not entirely reprehensible. What I mean to say, is…!"

Professor McGonagall held up her hand, "I understand, Miss Granger. I advise you to be cautious. The Malfoys are an old, wealthy family in desperate need of revitalizing their name to regain some of their social standing, having fallen from whatever grace they once tentatively held. I know I need not remind you of their inherent prejudices - however, as a famous war heroine, you… well, let me just say that the Malfoys have always been willing to play a very complicated, dangerous game of chance. I do not want to see you caught up in that. Again."

Feeling her cheeks reddening at what the headmistress was implying, Hermione first thought to deny any and all involvement with Draco. A niggling thought in the back of her subconscious stopped her, reminding her that if she were not involved with him, none of this predicament would have happened in the first place. She decided only to reply, "Thank you."

"You may go," McGonagall dismissed her.

Shakily, Hermione rose from her seat; the soothing heat from her bath had gone from her bones and they immediately began protesting her movements. She descended the spiral staircase of the office alone, the conversation worming its way through her mind like a despicable disease, poisoning everything it touched.

_...It is possible that the physical bond you and Miss Granger have so foolishly forged is permanent, yes..._

When she reached the bottom of the moving staircase, Hermione dissolved into the panic attack that had been threatening to overwhelm her the entire morning. Hugging herself tightly, she slid down the wall until she sat on the floor in a heap.

"Breathe…" she whispered to herself in gasps at the same time that her body was wracked with great, ugly sobs. Her tears splashed onto her arms, soaking into the fabric of her fresh jumper. "Just breathe…"

A second body slid down the wall beside her and Draco murmured into her ear, "You may as well get it all out."

Hermione seized his hand and held it tightly, unable to look him in the eyes. Her shoulders shook with despair while her wild hair fell into her eyes and became wet with her crying. They did not speak, though Draco began to rub circles onto her hand with his thumb. Eventually, her breakdown ceased and her body relaxed somewhat.

Once she felt confident that she could control the evenness of her voice, she queried, "Why are you here?"

Draco paused. "Do you… not want me to be?"

She shook her head. "I'm thankful you are, but I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

" _I'm a mess_ ," she whispered, ashamed.

He released a great gust of a sardonic laugh, replying, "Considering you've got the proof of my former misguided allegiance to a psychotic Dark wizard tattooed onto your arm, I'm wondering how long it will take you to come to your senses and realize that, of the two of us, you are generally far more put-together than I am."

Hermione shuddered, tugging the sleeves of her jumper lower as if she might banish the Dark Mark on her arm by doing so.

"I know how you feel, looking at it," he told her. "I look at it every day and it makes me hate myself. I can feel it crawling on my skin… the way it used to do when He called us. The way it used to when He summoned me to watch him torture my mother… to ensure I worked harder on my _impossible_ task. Most days, I couldn't watch and He would torture me in her place – but it was better than watching. It was always better than watching…"

She raised her red, tear-stained face and observed Draco. He had never been one to share his thoughts willingly; she reflected on how difficult it had been to get a straight answer from him in the past. He almost looked as if he wanted to cry himself, but his face remained stoically dry.

"I think you're brave," she told him honestly.

He released her hand to move it up to the place on her right forearm where they both knew Bellatrix's cursed scar was carved. "I wish I'd been more brave."

This time, she knew exactly what it was that made her lean in to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha credit for this installment is due to MammaWeasley27 for helping me work out several plot bumps that began in this chapter. I did not use a beta, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment. You're awesome and I hope you liked this chapter.


	22. Halloween Night, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All three Halloween night chapters have been posted simultaneously, so start here.
> 
> Happy reading! :)

"Tell me you aren't planning on going in _that_!"

Hermione looked down at her outfit and fidgeted uncomfortably; the Halloween dance was that evening and she had donned a long-sleeved cardigan matched with a pair of never-before-worn jeans. Though plain compared to some of the costumes she knew she would see there, she thought it looked good enough – and after stressful the morning she'd had, Hermione was not keen on drawing attention to herself. She was not really looking forward to dancing, either… not when she was riddled with newfound aches and pains from Draco's arthritis.

"Why not?" she queried in a voice that came out rather smaller than intended.

"It's a Halloween Dance," Lisa emphasized. The former-Hufflepuff had decked herself out in a beautiful Renaissance gown (in black, yellow and gold, of course), complete with ropes of pearls hanging from her neck and hips. Her short hair was mostly pulled back into an elegant snood.

"I'm sure I won't be the only one who isn't in costume," Hermione reasoned.

"That's not the point!" her friend insisted. "Plus you'll be over-warm in that cardigan… it's got long sleeves."

"I've cast a Cooling Charm," Hermione deflected. _I need those sleeves…_

Lisa tilted her head and narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "Why don't you want to wear a costume?"

"I'm just not feeling very festive, alright?" Hermione snapped, her annoyance building.

Placing a hand on her hip in a way that was strangely reminiscent of Ginny Weasley, Lisa widened her stance. "Look, I've got a couple of spare outfits. Why don't you just try…?"

"I'd really rather wear my cardigan."

"But that's so _boring_!"

"It'll be like I'm going as a Muggle."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "That's not clever…"

"This isn't negotiable, Lisa," she warned.

"But, Hermione!"

With a small scream of frustration, Hermione rolled up the sleeve of her right arm, where the 'Mudblood' scar was carved. "This is why, _okay_?"

"Merlin!" Lisa exclaimed, blanching in horror at the sudden appearance of ravaged flesh. "What happened?"

"It was carved there last April, when Harry, Ron and I were captured by Snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manor. I was tortured by a Death Eater, who decided to leave me a lovely souvenir to remember that particular evening by," she explained, more calmly then she felt. She quickly rolled her sleeve back down to cover her forearm. "Suffice to say, I'm loathe to show it off just yet. It only just began finally healing at the start of term."

She was disturbed to find the beginnings of unshed tears shining in Lisa's eyes as the girl regarded her closely. "You're _so_ brave, Hermione. I can't imagine myself doing half of the things I know you did while fighting against You-Know-Who." She paused to shudder, "I also don't understand how you can spend so much time alone with a former Death Eater on your patrols… to think! You were _tortured_ in his house!"

Feeling the conversation had backfired in her face, Hermione attempted, "Malfoy's really not so bad."

"He was a _Death Eater,_ right in You-Know-Who's inner circle," Lisa protested, squirming in her elaborate get-up as she condemned him. "They shouldn't have allowed him to set foot back in school. He should be in Azkaban."

Hermione was unwilling to argue this point, lest she have to reveal anything she would rather keep secret. She waved Lisa's words away somewhat carelessly, though she felt a dull ache for Draco's sake. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's just forget this whole conversation took place."

"Okay." A short silence stretched between the two girls until Lisa began to squirm again. Hermione was about to leave in search of some peace and quiet, when the other girl offered, "I _do_ have a costume with sleeves…"

With a long-suffering sigh, Hermione gave in and indulged her friend's persistence. "What is it?"

.

.

" _Wow,_ " Oliver effused honestly, his eyes lighting up as he caught sight of Hermione descending the stair with the other Ravenclaw girls.

Hermione offered her date a half-smile, taking in the details of his Roman gladiator costume, which he had clearly spent a good deal of time on. _Who knew Oliver Rivers had such an impressive physique under his school uniform?_ She told him truthfully, "You look great."

Earlier, Lisa had informed Padma, Daphne and Sue that Hermione was not planning to wear a costume to the Halloween Dance, and the four girls had joined forces to coax her into the offered spare outfit of Lisa's. Resigned, Hermione had not much cared what it was, only that it was long-sleeved. The 'Mudblood' scar she had shown Lisa certainly was not something she wished to have on display... but the copy of Draco's Dark Mark on her other forearm absolutely needed to be hidden, out of necessity.

It had seemed cruel, but even a Glamour Charm had not been able to cover the hideous tattoo. When the charm failed, Hermione had blandly deduced, _Likely Voldemort didn't want any of his followers to deny their allegiance..._

Lisa had fished out the spare costume from her trunk as if it were normal to have several extra kicking around ("I couldn't decide which one I wanted, so I bought them all!") and spent the better part of forty minutes transforming Hermione into a vision: _her_ vision, but a vision nonetheless.

Just like that, Hermione Granger had ceased to be, and in her place was Titania, the Queen of the Faeries.

Hermione would never have chosen to be a fairy on her own. ( _Really, of all things!_ she had silently huffed to herself when shown the costume). Most likely she would have picked something more practical to disguise herself as, such as a librarian. But Lisa had insisted she wear a costume, and since this particular outfit was suitable to hide all the new scars that pocked her flesh, Hermione had reluctantly caved.

The dress was artfully ragged from the waist down in silvery-white strips of fabric that seemed to move and shimmer on their own. The top was a mock-corset, and as Lisa had proclaimed, "It shows off how slender you are." The neckline dipped a bit lower than Hermione would have liked, causing Draco's _Sectumsempra_ scar to peek out the top by almost five inches. Initially, Hermione had balked when she realized this, but Lisa had rolled on a strange sort of body glitter along her collarbones and neck, and when combined with a Glamour Charm, the scar was essentially invisible and her skin seemed as if it were glowing. The sleeves of the dress hung off her shoulders and hugged her arms all the way down to her hands in the same metallic-silver sort of material.

Hermione had consented to allow Lisa to tame her hair – something she had never endured with so much passivity before – and it was now plaited into a sort of crown, complete with charmed flowers woven into it. Without even asking permission, Lisa had drawn small designs onto Hermione's face with easily washable eyeliner, then pulled the whole look together with a bold, silver eye-shadow.

Feeling overly poked, drawn-on and prodded, Hermione finally put her foot down when Lisa proudly pulled a pair of matching wings from her trunk to complete the ensemble. This had tipped off an argument, wherein Daphne quickly jumped to Hermione's defense, and Lisa was left extremely disappointed.

The Ravenclaw common room was quickly emptying as students departed to collect their dates from other Houses, or else had decided to head down to the dance a bit early. Hermione glanced around the circular room twice before she became distracted by how itchy the metallic material of her borrowed dress was. She paused to scratch at her leg, then at her arm. _Do I really have to put up with this all evening? My cardigan was so comfortable…_

Lisa had swiftly gotten past her initial upset over Hermione's insistence she not wear the fairy wings, deciding, "They would probably have got in the way of dancing, anyway!" Now, the naturally cheerful girl waved happily at her friends as she headed toward the exit to the tower, calling back, "I'm headed down to the Hufflepuff commons to collect Justin. See you in a bit!"

She disappeared with a crisp rustle of her golden taffeta dress.

"We'd better head down to meet our men, too," Sue added, looping her arm through Padma's. "Anthony and Stephen are meeting us by the fifth floor staircases."

Padma had taken the cake for the most convincing outfit, dressed as Medusa. She had put a number of charms on herself: first, on her eyes to render them a dull scarlet, and second, on her long hair to make it writhe as if it were made of real snakes. Deciding to go classically Greek for the rest of her garb, she had donned a conservative woman's chiton. She seemed to have used the same glittery substance on her arms and neck that Lisa had applied to Hermione, as she positively sparkled as she walked.

Sue on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable impersonating a pirate captain. She was dressed to the nines with a wide hat featuring an ostentatious feather. Her hair looked like an oil spill: long, black and shiny, spreading down her back and fluttering tantalizingly with every movement. Hermione suspected she was wearing a fair bit less clothing than an actual pirate captain would have.

As soon as the two friends left to join up with their Gryffindor dates, Oliver nudged Hermione, "Are you ready to head down?"

Shaking her head, Hermione glanced at Daphne, "Let's all go down together."

"Who are we waiting for?" he wanted to know.

As if in answer to his question, Blaise Zabini finally approached to collect his date. Daphne was dressed as a ghost who had died from drowning in the eighteenth century. Lisa had helped her perform a charm on her hair that would leave it looking wet all evening, to make her more convincing. Her skin and dress were both the same shade of pearlescent white. Hermione thought her friend looked very pretty.

Blaise seemed to think so too, because he looked on her with a vague sort of approval, which amounted to far more emotion than he usually displayed.

"Now we're ready," Hermione decided.

The common room was mostly empty now, but Hermione could not help but indulge in another quick glance around for a familiar head of blond hair. She was disappointed however, as she was unable to find Draco anywhere.

"Who are you looking for?" Oliver wondered curiously.

Turning back to her date, she brusquely replied, "No one. Let's go."

Oliver cast an uneasy glance toward Blaise and Daphne, which caused the former to chuckle lowly, "At ease, Rivers. It's just a party."

Daphne smiled at her date in a friendly sort of way, despite his lateness in collecting her for the party. "Nice outfit."

Zabini was dressed rather plainly, though he had very clearly put in some effort to make it appear he was from the same era as Daphne's drowned lady.

"What are you meant to be?" Oliver queried. Hermione could tell from Oliver's tone of voice that he was not on friendly terms with Blaise, though there was no open hostility between the two either. Zabini generally seemed to subtly flaunt many characteristics that were so classically Slytherin, he was often considered untrustworthy on principle; Hermione did not know enough about him to decide if there was any wisdom in such assumptions.

Blaise's dark eyes shifted back to his dorm-mate and he smoothly answered, "Her murderer."

"Oh."

Hermione only looked amused and cast Daphne a knowing look, which was returned. The answer - and the costume - like Blaise himself, had been the epitome of Slytherin.

As the odd foursome began to make their way down the spiraling staircase of Ravenclaw Tower, Hermione could not help but feel somewhat disappointed. She had not seen Draco anywhere, and though he had said he would not be attending the dance, she had hoped to at least wish him a good evening before she left. The memory of their kiss outside McGonagall's office only just that morning danced across her lips.

Zabini, it seemed, had taken note of her not-so-subtle searching. Leaning in close to her ear on their way down the staircase, he murmured, "He will have been sorry to miss seeing you like this."

Hermione could not help but color. She did not know much about the former-Slytherin, except what Theo had told her: _If Blaise Zabini had been born a goose, he could have talked foxes out of eating him._ Hermione still had a hard time imagining a person who was described this way by one of his best friends. She haughtily responded, "I'm sure I don't know who you mean."

Zabini only half-smirked at her, content to leave their pseudo-conversation as it was. Somehow, this only made it more awkward for her. She sidled in closer to Oliver. At least she understood him…

As they drew closer to the Great Hall, the excited chatter of a few hundred students became oppressive. Still unnerved by the half-conversation with Daphne's date, Hermione could not bring herself to join them. Just how many people had Draco told about their private trysts? It seemed Nott had been in on the secret almost from the beginning. Now, it appeared Zabini knew about her and Draco, too. Meanwhile, _she_ had not told a soul… it was most unfair. Hadn't it been Draco, himself, who had insisted they not speak of it to anyone?

Hermione was snapped from her melancholy mood by Ginny, who was standing outside the Great Hall with Harry and waiting for them. When Hermione, Oliver, Daphne and Blaise approached, she let out a loud wolf-whistle that drew the attention of many other students milling nearby. "Woah, Hermione!"

Harry, who had been craning his neck over the crowds as if searching for someone, was successfully distracted by his girlfriend. He glanced quickly at Hermione, only to do a double-take.

"Woah," he agreed.

Nervously, Hermione scratched at the itchy fabric of her sleeves. "Good woah, or bad woah?"

"Definitely a good woah," Ginny confirmed, glancing appreciatively at her friend. "Sometimes I forget how pretty you are."

Smiling down at his date, Oliver was looking particularly proud of having Hermione on his arm. At Ginny's words, he turned and took in the fiery redhead's professional Quidditch uniform. The dark gray and white robes sported a falcon across the chest, while her hair was pulled back into a sporty-looking ponytail.

"Ahh, the Falmouth Falcons," he approved. "Nice choice."

"Thanks," Ginny grinned. Then, turning to Hermione she winked and added, "I figured it would annoy Ron the most, since they absolutely _creamed_ the Cannons in their last match."

Harry chuckled. He was, rather hilariously, dressed as an Austrian beer maid, complete with a rather-too-short dress and clogs.

"Harry," Hermione began, chewing her lip in consternation. "I hate to ask, but... _what are you wearing?_ "

Completely unashamed of his hairy legs on display to the whole school, he smiled widely back at her and confidently answered, "I'm a beer maiden. I lost a bet."

"Oh," she said. Hermione supposed once you took down the most dangerous Dark wizard of the modern age and lived to tell the tale, there was not much left you had to worry about. Still, his messy, dark hair and round glasses really did nothing for the look he was going for. "Dare I ask who…?"

"Ron," he supplied. Ginny snickered as Hermione surveyed Harry critically; Daphne and Oliver tried to reign in their laughter. Even Blaise looked politely amused, though he was pretending not to pay their conversation any mind.

"Where _is_ Ron?" Hermione wondered, turning to look around. He was notably absent from their odd group; Daphne perked up beside her, obviously interested in the answer.

"He said he _might_ come," Harry responded, adjusting the front of his dress and trying to seem like he wasn't.

"I guess the date he wanted to take was already spoken for," Ginny added in an undertone, just loud enough for Daphne to hear.

Hermione guessed Daphne would have blushed if it were not for the coating of pale make-up on her skin and face. Zabini was scanning the crowd as it slowly made its way into the Great Hall; he appeared bored, but Hermione suspected he was really looking for Theo. Leaning in toward Daphne, he suggested, "Let's head in."

"I'll see you inside, Hermione," Daphne promised, moving off with Blaise.

After milling about a little longer for Ron, they were forced to conclude that their friend was either fashionably late, or not coming at all.

"I really thought he wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to see Harry dressed in a dirndl and clogs," Ginny bemoaned, giving her boyfriend's comical outfit a look of mixed emotions. Addressing him directly, she asserted, "I can't believe I have to dance with you when you're dressed like that! You look ridiculous!"

He really did.

The Great Hall had been completely transformed. Several hundred of Sue's paper bats were flapping around just above their heads, about a third of which were orange, the rest black. Hagrid had managed to grow four enormous pumpkins that were each roughly the size of the Beauxbatons carriage from fourth year. Ernie, who was an adept artist, had carved the pumpkins to each have one of the four representative House animals depicted on them: the Gryffindor lion, the Ravenclaw eagle, the Hufflepuff badger, and the Slytherin serpent. Hermione could not help but notice that Hufflepuff's badger seemed to have been carved with a little more care than the others. She wondered if Ernie had been missing his old House as he had worked on them.

Padma and Ernie had successfully convinced Professor McGonagall to book the Weird Sisters again, and once the hall was full, the band started up.

Oliver claimed her attention for the first several dances and Hermione had to admit she enjoyed herself. Her date loved to laugh, and seemed determined to make sure she had fun. Despite that her costume seemed to become exponentially itchier the sweatier she got, she found herself having a good time despite her initial inhibitions. All the same, she could not help but unsuccessfully search the vast room for Malfoy, though she did not really expect to see him.

At some point, the Weird Sisters began to croon out a slower number and many of the students coupled up. As Oliver had chosen that moment to fetch them both drinks, Hermione stepped to the sidelines to wait for him. Nearby, Harry and Ginny were dancing quietly together; it would have looked sweet, except Hermione could not help but giggle whenever she looked at Harry's costume.

"Care to dance, Granger?"

Hermione whirled around to be faced with Theo. He was wearing an impressive set of red-and-gold wizard's robes from the High Middle Ages, and had a sword belted at his hip. An enormous leather belt and matching boots, all with shining brass buckles, set off the entire ensemble.

She raised an eyebrow, "Who are you supposed to be?"

He laughed mischievously, bowed with a grand flourish, and gallantly held out a hand for her to take, "Godric Gryffindor, at your service, my lady."

"Who else?" she grinned, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. Daphne, who was slowly turning nearby with Blaise, raised an eyebrow at their appearance as partners. Hermione supposed that though she and Theodore interacted with one another in classes with some frequency, a dance must seem like entirely another thing.

Dancing with Theo was effortless, friendly, and comfortable; Hermione was pleased he did not seem intent on holding her too closely. He mostly made unkind jibes about various members of those assembled, while Hermione desperately tried not to laugh at his observations - which were often very astute, if borderline cruel.

When the song was over, she was a little surprised how much she had enjoyed Nott's company. He swept into another deep bow and made a show of kissing her hand and wiggling his eyebrows. It was too much – she laughed heartily.

Satisfied that he had finally coaxed a laugh from her, Theo departed. It was only then Hermione realized that some of nearby dancers had been whispering about her choice in partner.

"…Notts were involved with You-Know-Who…"

"…What's she thinking?"

"…Do you think they're involved with one another…?"

"… _I'd_ certainly want to keep him a secret…"

Embarrassed at the collective ignorance of such whispers, Hermione stuck her nose in the air and stalked off to find Oliver. Instead, she ran directly into Harry.

He drew her off to the side and queried, "You alright? You look upset."

Another fast dance started up and reclaimed the attention of the gossipers. Hermione fumed, "I just hate the rumor mill. It's pointless, mindless and puerile."

"Oh, I'm familiar enough with the rumor mill…"

"I know," she grimaced. Harry had always had a difficult time with the Hogwarts gossips, who had generally believed just about anything regarding the famous Harry Potter over the course of his Hogwarts career. His second, fourth and fifth years had been particularly bad, as she recalled. "I just want to be able to dance with whoever I want… and not be judged for it."

"Is this about Nott?"

"What about him?" she challenged.

Harry held up his hands in defense, "Don't worry, I'm not going to reprimand you. Like you said, you should be able to dance with whoever you like."

"Thank you."

Adjusting the skirt of his costume (Hermione looked away without trying to seem like she was), Harry asked, "What did he want?"

Hermione frowned as though the answer should be obvious, "He wanted to dance."

Harry raised both his eyebrows speculatively.

"Really, Harry," she resounded. "Theo is my friend."

"You know his father was a…"

"A Death Eater," she finished for him. "Yes, I know. But Theodore does not ascribe to the beliefs of his late father. He's a trifle snarky – okay, very snarky – but overall, I enjoy his company. Most of the time."

Harry shrugged. "Okay."

"Wha… really? Just, okay?"

"Your judgment has saved my life on more than one occasion, Hermione. I trust it."

She went slightly misty-eyed for a moment, then murmured thickly, "Thanks, Harry. You're the best."

He laughed, taking her arm to lead her back to the party. "I'd better return you to your date. He's looking… put out."

Seeing them glance his way, Oliver began his approach. Before he could say a word, Harry addressed the other wizard, "Sorry for borrowing her. It was a target of opportunity."

"It's no trouble," Oliver insisted, waving the apology away. Hermione supposed that in the current post-war environment, one did not deny things of that nature to someone like Harry Potter. Handing her one of the drinks he had gone to fetch several minutes ago, he asked, "Do you want to take a walk?"

Looking down at his offered arm, she smiled and acquiesced, "That sounds nice. It's a little claustrophobic in here..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so the Halloween Dance was always meant to be only one chapter, but when I sat down to write it, it mutated into THREE chapters. There wasn't really anything I wanted to get rid of though, so you'll just have to bear with me. They are being posted all together, since they are three parts to one larger scene. Or something. Anyway, I know the first part is kind of... ehhhh... but I just really enjoyed describing everyone's costumes.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own. As always, thank you so much to everyone who left a comment.


	23. Halloween Night, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All three Halloween night chapters have been posted simultaneously. If you're starting here, go back to Chapter 22 and read that one first!

Taking her arm, Oliver led Hermione toward the enormous, oaken front doors of the castle. The immediate grounds boasted a modestly sized maze of hedgerows, festively decorated in spider webs and autumn leaves. It was not a true labyrinth – the design was too simple to become truly lost in – but it did allow for an uninterrupted walk outside. The music was quieter here, the persistent thumping muted. Hermione found the late October air to be refreshingly cool on her sweating skin.

For a few minutes, Oliver chatted idly about the dancing and how there seemed to be a good turnout, complimenting Padma and Ernie on a job well done. Hermione responded when necessary, doing her best to seem interested in the conversation.

They had to double back when they accidentally came across two seventh years snogging in a hidden corner. The incident caused Oliver to fall into silence, which prompted Hermione to desperately try to think of a topic for them to discuss. Anything but snogging. She could come up with nothing.

"Hermione?"

She looked up at him curiously, questioningly.

He almost seemed to be holding his breath. "It's okay, you know. That you don't… have feelings for me."

She could have cried with relief; her entire body seemed to sag with his confessional. Her emotions must have shown pretty plainly on her face because Oliver's crystal blues became rather sad.

Feeling guilty, she told him earnestly, "I think you're a wonderful person, Oliver. Really, I do. I just… thank you. I don't think I'm able to offer you more than what we currently are."

He seemed to accept her words with a kind of stoic grace. "I've always known you were out of my league, but a bloke can't help but dream. Anyway, I figured out awhile ago that you had feelings for someone else."

_He did?_ A knot of worry began to form in Hermione's gut. "I'm not sure what you…"

"I know you dated him over the summer and I saw how much time you spent with him in the library and at meals. He was pretty standoffish toward me, too," Oliver interrupted, his words coming out in a rush, like he could not stop now that he had begun. "I asked Longbottom and he confirmed it. Anyway, I'm no fool… Ron Weasley can offer you more than I can. He helped you and Potter defeat You-Know-Who. I can't compete with that."

_Wait…_

He thought she was in love with _Ron?_

Hermione began forming a vehement protest to this concept, when she abruptly realized it would probably be easier to let that particular bit of misinformation remain as it was. She had nothing to prove to Oliver – and Ron certainly knew where he stood in her estimation, and vice versa. There was nothing to prove to Ron, either.

"Thank you for understanding," she answered, thinking back to the times she had snogged Ron over the summer with a small shudder.

"Just... Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Do me one favor? Be careful of Nott. He's... fond of you."

Hermione gaped at him. "You think _Theodore_ has a thing for me? Sweet Merlin, _no!_ We're friends. _Just_ friends."

Smiling a bit at her honest reaction, Oliver insisted, "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

_Well this has been a humiliating conversation._ Eager for it to be over, Hermione stuck out her hand to shake his, "Friends?"

Considering her gesture, it was a second before he took her hand and shook it firmly. His eyes still seemed somewhat sad, but he at least appeared to recognize that the conversation had gone relatively well, considering what it was. He agreed, "Friends."

"I think I'm going to turn in early," she told him, eager to be away.

"Alright." Looking relieved, he nodded and turned with her back in the direction of the party. They said 'good night' at the entrance to the Great Hall, and Oliver ducked back inside, possibly to try salvaging his evening.

Breathing a deep sigh of appeasement and feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her chest, Hermione turned the corner, intent on putting as much distance between herself and the Halloween Dance as possible, without flat-out running away. As she turned a second corner, she almost smacked into Ron and Seamus. A surprised squeak exited her mouth before she could stifle it.

"It's just us, 'Mione," Ron reassured her. He raked his eyes over her choice in costume and stated, "You look nice."

"Thank you," she replied, feeling oddly embarrassed at the remark. Perhaps it had been Oliver's insinuation that there was still a romantic liaison occurring between her and Ron. Though she knew there wasn't, it was still weird to be accused of it, and not deny it.

"Are you done with dancing already?" Seamus queried in his Irish lilt. "Boring, is it?"

"I'm just tired," she answered, feeling it was the truth.

"Did Harry wear the dress?" Ron wanted to know.

"He certainly did."

Glancing at Seamus, both wizards snickered before Ron continued, "I told Ginny to get a picture for me, just in case. She better have. I am never going to let him live it down."

"He seemed to be enjoying it, actually," Hermione shrugged. "Why didn't you go in person?"

Ron looked about to answer when Seamus jumped behind a suit of armor and loudly whispered, "Someone's coming!"

Pulling Hermione with him, Ron hid them behind a similar suit of armor on the other side of the corridor. Taken aback by the sudden turn the conversation had taken, Hermione started, "What are we…?"

" _Shh_!" Seamus entreated as a third-year Slytherin came within viewing distance, his back to them as he bid his date a good night. Putting a small tube to his lips, Seamus blew heavily into it and expelled something from it.

"Right in one," Ron complimented in a whisper. He put his own tube to his lips and blew a second spit-wad at the boy's date. It stuck to the girl's costume, though neither victim seemed to have noticed.

"Nice one, Ron!"

Hermione's mouth fell open at the blatant display of rule-breaking; it was frightening how quickly her mood snapped from slightly mopy, to angry prefect mode. Aghast, she cried, "Twenty points from Hufflepuff!"

"Bugger, Hermione," Ron pouted. "We were just having a bit of fun. It's Halloween!"

Crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with her best glare, she demanded, "So you decided it was _fun_ for people to be covered in spit-wads?"

"I s'pose you want us to stop," he deduced.

Hermione cocked a sarcastic eyebrow at him.

"Fair guess, mate," Seamus conceded, looking somewhat nervous in the presence of her ire.

Ron sighed deeply. "You know, Hermione, Peeves was doing it earlier."

"I hope you're not implying that you believe the school poltergeist is a good role model," she scoffed. "If you want to amuse yourselves, why don't you go fling spit-wads at _Peeves_?"

Eyes lighting up, a mischievous grin spread across Seamus's face. "Hey now, that's not a terrible idea."

Hermione uncrossed her arms, only to place her hands on her hips. She had not been serious. "Seamus, were you _blind_ in fifth year?"

"Well that was Umbridge, wasn't it? That's different."

"I doubt a poltergeist acknowledges the difference!"

Seamus turned to Ron, "You in?"

Ron's spreading grin matched Seamus's and the boys raced off, leaving Hermione behind. Over the shoulder of his retreating form, Ron shouted, "See you, Hermione!"

As they disappeared down a neighboring corridor, she could only shake her head in disbelief.

A moment later, a familiar voice came from behind, "Like second years, aren't they?"

Turning, Hermione found that Ginny had crept up behind her, and was leaning idly against the wall. With a great sigh, she agreed, "They really are sometimes."

"I saw Rivers come back into the dance without you," Ginny observed. "Surely you're not _leaving_?"

Hermione supposed she should have known she would not be able to escape Ginny so easily. "Actually, yes. Oliver and I just broke off our not-really-relationship, and this costume of Lisa's is _incredibly_ itchy, plus I'm sore, so…"

As if by mentioning the scratchiness of the material, it seemed to redouble its efforts to prove her right. Scratching at the sensitive backs of her knees, then up her thighs, Hermione groaned with frustration over the sensation. Shortly, she moved on to her arms. _Sequins, glitter, and taffeta… never again..._

"There's a spell for that, you know," Ginny suggested, pulling out her wand and aiming it at Hermione's legs. " _Pruigino_!"

"Good Godric," Hermione whispered, amazed. Everywhere the fabric touched her legs became suddenly soft, like she was cloaked in comforting silk. "I need to learn that one."

"You can thank my Mum for that one," Ginny grinned and raised her wand again. "Let me get your arms."

"No!" Hermione shouted defensively, clutching at her incriminating forearms and taking a step away from her friend. "I mean, no, thank you."

Her friend's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

"I just… they're not that itchy," she lied, heart beginning a swift cadence in her chest at the highly unconvincing falsehood.

"Liar," Ginny accused calmly. She took a few steps toward Hermione and, realizing her friend was actually terrified of her approach, her eyebrows furrowed and she quietly asked, "What's wrong?"

Weighing her options, neither brought Hermione much peace of mind. On one hand, she could tell Ginny what was bothering her, and Ginny would be properly horrified and might even insist on mollycoddling her. On the other hand, she could remain mysterious and Ginny would correctly assume a huge secret was being kept from her, thus straining their friendship.

"Hermione, you're scaring me a little..."

In the end, it was the fact that both Nott and Zabini seemed to already be privy to Draco's private affairs that made her cave. Glancing around to be sure there were no witnesses, Hermione cast a _Muffliato_ on herself and her friend, nervously requesting, "Walk with me for a few minutes."

Once they were sufficiently away from the thumping music of the Great Hall, Ginny demanded, "What's going on?"

"I need you to promise that what I'm about to tell you is to be kept between us. Just us."

This only seemed to make Ginny even more concerned. "Please just tell me what's wrong. You're really starting to worry me."

_Here goes nothing…_

Slowly rolling back the sleeve of her costume, she bared her left forearm to her friend. Ginny screamed, but quickly stuffed a hand in her mouth to stifle herself. Hermione yanked her sleeve back down, her face burning with shame.

"But…! No," Ginny insisted, her brown eyes wild with fear and anger. "No!"

"Ginny, just let me explain…"

"You had bloody well better!"

The entire story – or most of it – came tumbling out. Hermione spoke of being assigned to patrols with Malfoy, and of their constant fluctuation between impetuously arguing with one another and getting along. She described the moment she had first discovered him smoking on the balcony - and almost brought up the fact that Malfoy had kissed her in the Stacks off the Ravenclaw common room, but quickly glazed over it, deciding it was too much information for Ginny to take in at once.

With great detail, she moved on to describing the discovery of Rowena Ravenclaw's secret study, and Ginny's eyes widened as she listened. Hermione explained that Draco had taken a book containing an intriguing alchemical mandala, and had suggested they work together on trying to put it into practice.

"But you didn't, right? You wouldn't do something that stupid with Malfoy," Ginny insisted. At her friend's look, she was forced to eat her own words. "Sweet Merlin, you actually _worked with him_?"

Continuing with her tale, Hermione told about how she and Draco had put their mandala plans into action only the previous night, down by the Forbidden Forest. She described the amazing sensation of magic... up until the unicorn made its unexpected appearance and bound their bodies together, resulting in the sharing of their scars and physical ailments. Biting back most of her new compassion for Draco's arthritis – which was beginning to set into her own bones with a fervor now – Hermione explained that he now bore her 'Mudblood' scar, and she, his faded allegiance to Voldemort.

By the end of the fantastical retelling, Ginny's face had become as red as her hair. "Do you mean to tell me, that thing on your arm is _Draco Malfoy's Dark Mark_?"

Nodding, Hermione voiced a new fear she had: "McGonagall is meeting with both our parents tomorrow in Hogsmeade and… well, you remember the Malfoys, Gin. I'm so scared they'll take note of my parents. I did so much to protect them during the war. What if this is what it takes to destroy my family? You don't think Narcissa Malfoy is going to put a hit on them, do you?"

Ginny seemed too shocked by the whole story to reply right away. Eventually, she seemed to collect her thoughts and set to assuaging Hermione's fears. "Don't forget, the Malfoys don't have a lot of power these days. They're under some really intense scrutiny. I think Lucius Malfoy is still in Azkaban…"

"House arrest, actually."

Shaking her head, she persisted, "All the same, I think it will be okay… but, how have you not _told_ anyone all of this before me?"

"I was afraid…"

"Afraid! Hermione, we're your _friends_." Taking one of Hermione's hands in hers, Ginny fixed her with a serious look. "We are here to support you - _especially_ if you're getting mixed up into trouble with Draco Malfoy, of all people."

Hermione snorted, pushing back against a stray curl that had escaped her plaited crown.

"I suppose I should be thankful it's not also romantic trouble," Ginny mused.

Hermione sucked in a breath, her hand frozen in the act of resituating one of the flowers from her hair.

Ginny's mouth slowly dropped open. It might have been comical, if not for the look of utter repugnance on her face. "No… no. _Not_ Malfoy. Please tell me that _this_ part is a joke!"

"You can't tell anyone!"

Closing her eyes, Ginny pressed her palm to her forehead as if she was suddenly suffering a headache. "Hermione, when I was teasing you about him last month, I did _not_ mean for you to take it seriously. You're brilliant and all, but _this…_ this is an awful idea."

Pleadingly, Hermione repeated, "You can't tell anyone, Ginny…"

"You expect me to keep this _to myself_?"

"Yes!"

"I… I just _can't._ Not when it's _Malfoy_." Her eyes locked onto Hermione's covered forearms, where she now knew the Dark Mark was hidden. "Look what he's _done_ to you…"

Hermione shook her head, desperately willing Ginny to understand. "This was both our doing, mixed with some bad luck. We're trying to find a way out of it."

"Can you hear yourself? What were you doing collaborating with that tosser in the first place?"

"He's not a tosser!" Hermione cried, feeling she had listened to more than her quota of abuse toward Draco for the evening. "He's… misunderstood and... yes, sometimes he is utterly infuriating and egotistical, but he's… funny, in a sarcastic, snarky way... and he just…"

Ginny's eyes widened even further. "You _like_ snogging Malfoy!"

"I do. I really do." Hermione's gaze fell to her feet and she noted her ankles seemed to be somewhat swollen from the arthritis combined with the dancing she had done. She felt a pang of pity for Draco that she would never have dared acknowledge to him. Quietly, she insisted, "He's not what everyone thinks he is."

"Wow," Ginny breathed, stunned.

"You're not going to tell, are you?"

Slowly, Ginny shook her head, "No-o. I'm not. It's just a lot to take in all at once. And it's _Malfoy_!"

Laughing nervously, Hermione pointed out, "You've said that at least three times. I know who he is."

"I am going to keep your secret, Hermione, but I am going to say that I really don't think you should keep Harry in the dark. Ron – maybe. Ron hates Malfoy. But maybe you should rethink your silence. Come down to the Slytherin commons anytime you need to talk. The password's 'sanctity' this month."

"Thanks, Gin," she smiled, squeezing her friend's hand gratefully. "I feel better already, now that I've told you everything."

"I still think you should also tell Harry," Ginny repeated seriously. "He's seen you with Malfoy on the Marauder's Map on more than one occasion anyway. He's commented on it, but we both figured it was prefect stuff."

"It was," Hermione reminded her.

"…And snogging!"

"That was only a handful of times!"

" _Still_ …" Ginny eyed her curiously. "You _are_ going back up to Ravenclaw Tower, right? You're not going to sneak off to meet him and… I don't know… shag in Filch's office or something?"

"Ginevra Weasley!" Hermione gasped, immediately coloring.

Ginny held up her hands in defense and objected, "I don't _know_ anymore! My entire world has been turned on its head! This is honestly far more shocking than if you'd announced you were dropping out of school to breed Blast-Ended Skrewts in Slovakia!"

Hermione blinked, then burst into infectious laughter. Soon, both girls were stifling giggles over the very idea. Eventually sobering, Hermione bid, "Good night, Ginny… and thank you for listening to me."

"Promise you'll reconsider the not-telling-Harry part?"

"I'll think about it," she agreed. "Now get back to the dance. You don't want to leave your Austrian beer maiden unattended for much longer. Someone might swoop in and steal him."

With one of her signature grins, Ginny mock-saluted her and turned back down the hallway, leaving Hermione alone once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Booooo, no Draco in this one either! I'm sure he'll make it up to you (and Hermione) in Part III.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated - as is your understanding toward any mistakes you might have noticed in this installment, as I did not use a beta reader for this chapter.


	24. Halloween Night, Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All three Halloween night chapters have been posted simultaneously, so if you're starting here, go back to Chapter 22 and read that first!

Once Ginny had retreated from sight, Hermione's smile slid from her face. She had total trust in her friend, but hoped she had not made a mistake in telling her everything. _Though, it seems Draco suffers no qualms over sharing the details of our private liaisons with his friends..._

Not for the first time that night, she wondered where he was hiding himself. Surely he was not spending the evening in his dormitory while the rest of the school was at the dance... Hermione could just not imagine him doing that sort of thing. Taking a moment to conduct a brief mental combing-through of the castle, it was not long before she realized she already had a shrewd suspicion of exactly where he was.

Abandoning the idea of climbing back up to Ravenclaw Tower for a lengthy shower, Hermione instead made her way down the winding corridors that led toward the dungeons. She half-hoped her guess was wrong. _Even if I find him, what would I say to him?_

The entrance for the short tunnel-passage to the Quidditch Pitch was blocked by a tapestry hanging at the back of the smallest dungeon. A haze of cigarette smoke had filled the room with a musty stench the moment she entered the gloomy, little chamber. Still unsure what she wanted to say, she pushed aside the tapestry concealing the cave behind.

Draco raised his eyebrows when he caught sight of her unexpected approach, and Hermione belatedly realized she must look ridiculous coming there in Lisa's Halloween costume. He took his time observing her, taking in the details of her ethereal dress and complicated updo with the flowers poking out of her hair.

Continuing to puff away on his cigarette, he eventually drawled, "Well, here's something I never thought I'd see. What are you doing here?"

"I knew you'd be here," she answered truthfully.

His eyes flashed interestingly. "Why would you care if I was here? Come to rail on me about not smoking on the premises again?"

She shook her head, "You never seem to listen to me anyway. Why weren't you at the party?"

"I told you beforehand I wouldn't be going."

"You missed Theo dressed as Godric Gryffindor," she informed him primly. "Also, Harry went as a beer maiden. He had on a dirndl and clogs and everything."

Draco closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them. "I am both grateful for the hilarity of those images, and revolted by them at the same time."

"Theodore's was rather impressive, actually. It looked like he spent a long time on it."

"I could have easily done without that image of Potter, however." Despite his words, he chuckled before taking a particularly long drag, eyes never leaving her. "Are you supposed to be a wood sprite?"

"Titania, Queen of the Faeries, actually," she corrected gently. "This is Lisa's costume. She tried to make me wear the wings to go with it, but that was where I drew the line." She regarded him for a moment before recollecting, "I guess I wouldn't expect you to know who Titania is. She's a character from a famous Muggle play."

He pulled the cigarette from his lips and briefly recited:  
 _"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,_  
 _Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,_  
 _Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine,_  
 _With sweet muskroses, and with eglantine._  
 _There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,_  
 _Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight."_

He casually popped the cigarette back into his mouth. Meanwhile, Hermione had to stop her mouth from dropping open at the familiar way he had spoken the verses; she could not stop her body's ambrosial shiver, however. "You know Shakespeare?"

"Wizards like his plays, too, you know," he retorted provokingly, expelling a foul nebula toward the exit to the tunnel.

Hermione was unable to come up with an immediate response to this, as it seemed not to make any sense with what she knew of Malfoy, or indeed, of wizards in general. "I'm… surprised."

"I guess you _do_ make a pretty good Titania," he concluded, scrutinizing her outfit even more closely. "It's just not what I would have expected... I anticipated you choosing something stodgy, like a librarian - or, if I'm honest, I really thought you'd just wear your weekend clothes."

Hermione said nothing, as both these observations hit a little too close to home for comfort.

"Aren't you going to go back up to the party?"

"I've danced my fill actually," she replied, fidgeting somewhat. "I've never been big on dances, and you have to have a good partner or it isn't worth it."

He snorted derisively, "Rivers not fulfilling your needs?"

"Oliver was a wonderful date," she contradicted.

Draco did not respond right away, but turned away instead. "Well then, why don't you go back up there and spend some more time with your _wonderful date?_ I'm sure he'd be happy to escort you into an alcove somewhere, if you're too fagged to dance."

Hermione giggled.

" _What_?" he demanded, rounding on her sharply.

"Nothing, it's just… you're kind of adorable when you're jealous."

" _Jealous_!" he repeated with incredulity, almost dropping his cigarette in anger. "Of _that_ ponce? Not a chance."

"Okay, Draco…"

He turned away again, his jaw a hard line like he was clenching his teeth.

More to change the subject than anything else - since she could recall with perfect clarity how proud he had always been - she asked, "What is the scar on your thigh from?"

"Quidditch accident when I was ten," he answered tersely. Then, seeming to relax somewhat, he countered with, "What about that blotch on your rib? Where it looks like you were struck by lightning..."

Like his _Sectumsempra_ scar, Hermione felt that the mottled red-and-purple mark that stretched down the right side of her ribcage, was something she would rather have kept private. "Department of Mysteries, fifth year."

For a moment following this revelation, all Draco did was continue to silently smoke his cigarette. "Is that the same Ministry job that landed my father in Azkaban?"

Tilting her head slightly, Hermione considered this angle of the battle for the first time. It had not occurred to her how Malfoy might think of the event - she had only thought of it in terms of her own point of view. Her nose wrinkled slightly. "Yes. Death Eaters chased us through the Department of Mysteries attempting to steal a prophecy. Dolohov cursed me and I was unconscious for a good part of our time there. I'm still indebted to Neville for dragging me along after I had been knocked out."

The cigarette paused on its journey to Draco's lips. _"Longbottom_ has _you_ in his debt?"

She nodded. Feeling protective of Neville's perceived bravery, she added, "He's a good ally to have in a fight."

Draco's cigarette appeared to have burnt out. He tossed it to the ground and crushed it with his heel. Hermione felt a creeping relief that he had finished it (the cigarette smoke often made her feel sick to her stomach), until she saw him fumbling with the pack for another.

Trying to distract him from smoking again, she suggested, "Do you want to go for a walk? Maybe we could go up to the Astronomy Tower. It's a clear night…"

He shuddered visibly, "I hate going up there. It reminds me of a number of things I'd rather forget."

Hermione could have slapped herself: why _would_ he want to go back to the place he had failed to kill Dumbledore and set off a chain of events that would haunt him for the rest of his life? He probably would not ever want to go back to the Room of Requirement, either. She could hardly blame him.

"The Quidditch Pitch then?" she suggested hopefully. "We're already here."

Draco regarded her for a moment, as if searching for her true motives in recommending such a thing. With a quick look of longing at the pack of unsmoked cigarettes, he slid them back into his pocket and consented, "Alright."

Looming large and vacant, the pitch was dark, lit only by moonlight in-between the tall shadows of the goalposts and stands. They climbed to the top of the nearest observation tower, which contained Slytherin's stands; Hermione was again struck by the way a new angle of the pitch offered a different view of it. Topped by a green serpent - fangs bared and ready to strike - on a silver background, it nearly felt alien.

"Feeling nostalgic?" she queried.

Draco had sat on the third bench back, facing the goalposts and looking somewhat disoriented. He seemed to chew on his answer before spitting it back out, "Not really."

She sat beside him. He did not seem predisposed to conversation, choosing instead to sit in stubborn quiescence.

_It is possible the physical bond you and Miss Granger have so foolishly forged is permanent, yes._ McGonagall's words floated through her mind. Deciding to try again at a conversation, Hermione remarked, "You still haven't told me why you didn't go to the dance."

"Are you going to interrogate me?" he demanded rudely.

Deciding to counter his vinegar with honey, she answered, "No, but I'd have liked to dance with you. I danced with Theo, you know. People immediately started making up all sorts of ridiculous rumors, which I have no doubt I've not heard the end of. Imagine what they'd say if it was you and me?"

This seemed to be the correct tactic to use on a Malfoy who was in a bitter mood, as he began smirking at her in an amused manner she did not quite like… but also sort of _did_ like.

"Wipe that smug look off your face, will you, Malfoy?" she requested.

"Ah, the travesties of being Queen of the Faeries," he teased, his smug smile only widening.

"Yes, well, there's no need for you to act the Robin Goodfellow to my Titania."

His blue-gray eyes glittered with a kind of smoldering fire in the moonlight when he responded, "I rather fancy the notion of causing you mischief."

It was such a blatant come-on that Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Normally Draco did not say such things, preferring to catch her off guard before pulling her into a passionate kiss - or else not kissing her for quite some time and letting her worry over it.

Before she could form a protest, he was leaning in, and the words died on her tongue. He paused, barely an inch away so that his breath ghosted over her lips when he murmured:  
 _"And, as I am an honest Puck,_  
 _If we have unearned luck_  
 _Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,_  
 _We will make amends ere long."_

It was the Shakespeare that made her do it. Despite the inner feeling of timidity, it was without hesitation that she pushed her mouth the last part of the way toward his. The moment their lips collided, she was enraptured by the taste of his mouth (though she could have done without the lingering flavor of cigarettes), the softness of his lips… the way his hands clutched at her shoulders as if to prevent her running away.

As if he were afraid she would leave.

With a light grunt, he hauled her onto his lap so that she was straddling him, a leg dangling over each side of his lap. One of her shoes fell off with a dull _thunk_ onto the wooden floor of the stands, but Hermione did not care; she was too busy kissing him.

Close contact with his body was more tactile than expected. Her dress had ridden up near her hips from her legs being spread apart as she sat on his lap, facing him. Meanwhile, her arms had wrapped themselves around the back of his neck as his tongue, uninhibited tonight, ravished her mouth with abandon.

Relishing the forbidden excitement that sang through her veins, she shivered as Draco's hands began to rove over her body, pausing at her hips, where the skirt of her costume had bunched, before travelling down to her thighs and stroking at her bare skin. She had never been touched like this before, but it began uncoiling something sensual within her, while simultaneously, a hitherto-unknown sense of need began to tickle behind her navel. He palmed against the sides of her breasts through the laced corset of her costume, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. She swallowed his satisfactory smirk, pressing her tongue into his mouth as one of her hands travelled down to rest on his chest. In so slight a movement Hermione almost thought she had imagined it, she felt his hips move fluidly upward and into hers, pressing their bodies together sexually, as if he intended to take her innocence through their clothes.

"Tell me to stop," he breathed, an echo of their first kiss.

She didn't.

His hands became more adventurous, cupping her breasts over her outfit and kneading them in turns. He groaned lowly, like an animal, and pushed his hips against hers a second time. Hermione felt something hard grinding against her leg…

She broke the kiss and looked down in apprehension and fascination at his obvious erection pressed against her thigh. He growled, capturing her lips again; he tasted like untempered lust and cigarettes.

"Draco," she gasped, and his lips left her mouth only to trail downward, where he began pressing heavy kisses to different pressure points on her neck. Turning her head to the side so as to allow him better access, she shuddered deliciously when he began lightly sucking on a spot right near the bottom of her ear. A fire had lit in her gut, and she wanted more.

Seeming to sense this, Draco's hands cupped her breasts again - and in a moment of self-doubt, Hermione hoped he did not find them too small; that train of thought was instantly derailed when his thumbs roamed upward to rub lightly over her nipples, which had pebbled into hardened peaks from his touch. She could not help the tiny moan that escaped her, even as conflicting emotions began to swirl in her mind... Was this too much? Was it happening too fast?

Her legs tightened where she straddled his lap and her arms stiffened, becoming heavy. Reluctantly, she panted out, "Draco, we… have… to stop…"

It took him a moment to cease his onslaught, almost as if it had taken his brain a few seconds to catch up to her request. His hands froze, and he raised his eyes to hers; she was almost frightened by how they had darkened with an unknown emotion. After a beat of silence, he murmured, "I suppose I _did_ request that you tell me to stop… I just didn't want you to actually say the words."

She gulped. Patiently, he only waited, and though his body was still pressed against hers, his hands respectfully dropped to her hips, his thumb drawing circles onto her hip-bone. She suspected there was very little he could do about the length of hardened flesh that was poking into her inner thigh through their clothes.

Finally, Hermione found her voice and it all came out in a rush, "I've never gone _all the way._ I'm not really ready for that, I don't think. Maybe someday, when I'm married, or... in a long-term relationship, or…"

He stared at her incredulously. "You thought I wanted _sex?_ Up here in the _Quidditch stands_?"

Her face burned with embarrassment. "I just wanted to be clear."

"Trust me, Granger, as fun and fantastically risky as that sounds, I'm not ready for sex with you either… or with anyone else, for that matter."

_Oh._ Well, that was good, but now she was mortified.

The truth was, she had been enjoying the feel of his touch, the forbidden way his hands had felt on her breasts. No one had ever touched her as if she were a sexual being before - and now she had ruined it. It would probably be too awkward to resume _now_. Disappointed and unable to form a complete sentence, she managed only, "Ah. Right. Good."

"My parents always stressed that I should save sex for marriage," he explained, still looking at her a little oddly. "It reduces the risk of having a bastard child, which would be a legal nightmare for the Malfoy estate. But then again, if Theo's to be believed…"

"Please," she snorted, somewhat chagrined at being once again faced with Nott's supposedly prophetic prediction. "Theo's full of it."

He shrugged. "I'm not so sure sometimes…"

"Speaking of Theodore," she began, pulling herself from his lap to sit beside him instead. "How much does he know about… us?"

Elegantly raising one pale eyebrow, Draco sinfully repeated, "Us?"

She colored deeper, but refused to be cowed, "About us snogging, among other things. Last I recall, you were admonishing me not to tell a soul, and then suddenly Theo is privy to everything."

Draco sighed, looking very much like he wished he had another cigarette; she could see his fingers itching for the pack. "I sought him out following our first… encounter… in the Stacks. We went for a zip around the pitch on our broomsticks. I didn't tell him anything, but he says he looked into the past and rooted out what was bothering me. He got angry that you'd had your panic attack since, as he put it, I was being 'pretty obvious for a Slytherin' and you should have caught on sooner what was going to happen." At her angry expression, Draco quickly added, _"His_ words, not mine."

"He's impossible!" she exclaimed passionately.

"That's mostly true," Draco conceded. "Regardless, he threatened to tell you about his prediction about the both of us – something he apparently did, despite my protests. So you see, I never _told_ him anything. He used his gift to discover the truth."

This was an interesting concept Hermione had not considered, mainly because she considered most divination to be bollocks. Still, it was difficult to continue trying to put everything into black-and-white boxes, after everything she had been through with Harry and Ron on their horcrux hunt. She sighed, lifting her gaze up to the stars, "Do you really think he has the gift of Sight? Or is he bluffing?"

"I've questioned him numerous times. He's surprisingly all-knowing. You may want to try it yourself sometime and come to your own conclusions," he recommended.

Hermione knew she would; she was curious. "And Zabini?"

"What about him?"

"How much does _he_ know?"

Draco's eyes hardened, "Anything Blaise may have said to you, is something he inferred on his own." Taking the cue from her, Draco fixed his eyes upward on the stars. "The thing about Blaise is that he seems like nothing fazes him, but he's really a terrible gossip. Worse than a maiden aunt. He has to know everything that's going on around him: what, and with whom."

Surprised, Hermione would never have guessed that such a quirk belonged to the tall, silent boy who always seemed to be on the outskirts, never in the fray. In her mind, gossips always blabbed what they had learned; Blaise Zabini apparently just liked to collect secrets. In retrospect, she supposed this was very fitting for a Slytherin.

"What did he say to make you ask?"

"That you'd regret you didn't get to see me in such a ridiculous get-up. He thought I was looking around for you earlier."

Smirking widely, Draco fixed his gaze on her, "And _were you_?"

Raising her chin, she looked down her nose at him and merely answered, "Possibly."

The smirk only deepened. "So you see, I've technically told no one about… us."

"You and your loopholes… how dreadfully Slytherin."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing."

She smiled indulgently, bending to retrieve the shoe that had fallen from her foot earlier. By the she resurfaced, a new thought had occurred to her and her smile was gone. Falteringly, she admitted, "Malfoy… I told Ginny about the mandala… and that it was interrupted. She knows I have your Dark Mark."

Beside her, she could feel Draco stiffen up where he sat. His voice lacked any of the warmth it had slowly gathered over the course of their conversation, when he queried, "Not Potter or Weasley?"

"Certainly not. I doubt either of them would take that very well. It's just… I thought you'd told Theo, and possibly also Zabini. I've also been having a hard time keeping all this to myself. Ginny is trustworthy, though she was shocked beyond belief that we'd actually snogged…"

"You _told_ the Weaslette we…?"

Hermione shook her head and quickly explained, "Like Zabini, she's very perceptive. She read between the lines of what I told her and came to her own conclusion. I swear it."

Draco inclined his head slightly, though Hermione could sense he was displeased and a little disappointed she had shared their secret. Still, he said nothing and for several long minutes, they only looked up at the stars that twinkled far above their heads.

"I'm nervous about tomorrow," she eventually whispered, giving voice to her real fear.

He visibly shuddered, "I have an inkling my mother is going to have a great deal to say to me. I suspect it's a good thing my father will be unable to attend."

It was the first time he had mentioned his family, short of briefly describing what he went through on their behalf during the war. Hermione glanced sidelong at him and it struck her in that moment, how tired he looked. Recalling that he had once mentioned that he did not sleep well most nights, she suspected with how wound up he was with anxiety over the looming conference, he would not be sleeping at all tonight.

Slowly leaning over, she kissed him gently on the cheek, on the corner of his mouth, and finally on his lips. He met this last one with a pressure of his own in return, so unlike the hormone-induced snogging and groping they had just indulged in. She offered him a small, tentative smile as she pulled back, and though he did not return it, there was a softness in his eyes that seemed to indicate her regard was not unwelcome.

"I can't wait to get out of this outfit," she admitted, blissfully wondering when that glorious moment might finally come.

"It's almost as eye-grabbing as your Yule Ball ensemble."

"I didn't think you had even deigned to look in my direction at the Yule Ball," she sniffed in faux-hauteur.

"I wasn't the only one looking," he assured her with a lewd look in his eye. "Where did you learn to dance like that?"

"At the Yule Ball? McGonagall took all the Gryffindors aside and taught us the basic steps," she explained, recalling the magical phonograph and the large room to which their Head of House had summoned them all one day. Then, tittering slightly as a new image stole through her mind, she added, "Can you imagine Flitwick trying to teach the Ravenclaws? He's so tiny, how could he possibly…?" She burst into a fresh fit of giggles.

With a snigger of his own, Draco declared, "I've got you beat. Since you've correctly deduced that the Heads taught their Houses the basic steps for ballroom dancing, you can imagine what that lesson was like for the Slytherins."

"No…" she gasped, her ribs already aching with the sheer ridiculousness of the new image in her mind. " _Snape_?"

His grin confirmed it.

Hermione could not remember laughing so heartily in quite some time. She tried to imagine the late Severus Snape turning about the dance floor with… well, with anyone, quite frankly – but every time she tried to conjure the thought, she burst into a fresh gale of mirth. Soon, her sides ached and she was gasping for breath. She was only able to stop when a brisk wind made her shiver, reminding her that winter would soon be upon them.

"You should head back to Ravenclaw Tower," he advised, eyeing her.

"Will you walk me? I know you're not going to be sleeping tonight, anyway. You'll be up worrying about tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes as if she had requested a gargantuan favor of him, but Hermione knew better than to take his theatrics seriously. She smiled as he rose from the long bench and led the way back toward the ground level of the Quidditch Pitch. She also did not comment on the fact that as they made their way to Ravenclaw Tower, he appeared to be leading her the long way through the castle... though there could not be a reason for his seemingly random directions, except to prolong their walk.

On the fourth floor corridor, they heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Luckily, Hermione recognized a nearby painting, which she knew to conceal a small hiding spot. Sliding it to the side to reveal the empty space behind, she ushered him inside, whispering, "Quick!"

Once they were hidden, he admitted, "Good thing you knew this was here."

"Shh!" she warned.

They were just in time. The sound of two people running past went by them only seconds later.

"Well how was _I_ to know the school poltergeist would take such offense? He always seemed like such a happy chap!"

Hermione stifled her giggle when she recognized Seamus's Irish lilt. The other voice – Ron's – seemed to be shouting over his shoulder, "Oi! Don't dish what you can't take!"

The sound of the boys running away had barely died off when the impish devilment that was Peeves the poltergeist floated after them, cackling and blowing raspberries. A short time later, the sound of war-cries echoed from the stairwell, followed by a loud booming noise.

"Really," Hermione huffed, amused despite herself. "How _very_ mature. I can't believe they actually did that..."

"Who did what?" Draco wanted to know.

"Ron and Seamus," she explained in a whisper. "They went to find Peeves in order to blow spit-wads at him. I guess they found him."

He shook his head, clearly unimpressed. It was only then that she became aware of how close they were standing to one another in the somewhat-cramped darkness behind the painting. Draco seemed to become mindful of this at the same time she did, because his fingers grazed the curve of her waist and trailed down to rest on her hip.

"Do you want to not-have-sex again behind this painting?" he posited.

Feeling prepared this time, Hermione gathered her courage and trailed her own fingers down his chest until they came to rest on his belt buckle. "Yes, please."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes Halloween night! I hope no one minded a dash of smut with their helping of Dramione... *wink*
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes you may notice are my own. I also want to say thank you to everyone who left a comment or a kudo: you are awesome and I appreciate you.
> 
> Lastly, there is a reference in this chapter to Goblet of Fire-era Snape, which was not my original idea, but something I found on Tumblr. I had a good laugh over it, and could not resist including it - but credit where it is due, and all that. I also do not own Shakespeare.


	25. Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

Draco could not sleep.

He lay on his back on his bed, staring at nothing. At some point during the night, Blaise quietly made his way back to their dormitory, and soon his heavy breathing indicated he had gone to sleep. It was well after two in the morning when Macmillan finally stumbled in; being Head Boy meant he had been in charge of cleaning up the aftermath of the Halloween Dance.

Rivers had already been tucked away into the closed curtains of his own four-poster when Draco returned to the dormitory sometime after midnight. His Halloween costume was strewn in pieces by the floor of his bed – uncharacteristic of the Ravenclaw, who was generally meticulously tidy.

Draco considered himself organized, but Rivers took neatness to a new level. His ink bottles were arranged in a neat line on his bedside table, first by color, then by size. His trunk was immaculate, with each of his uniform shirts, slacks, vests and ties neatly folded and organized in stacks. He made his own bed every morning and there were never creases in the sheets.

_You're kind of adorable when you're jealous._

Curtains drawn around him as if he were a wraith of darkness, Draco smirked to himself. After what he had done with Granger behind that painting on the fourth floor, there surely was not good reason to be jealous of Rivers any longer…

With an ambrosial shiver, he recalled the stolen moments they had shared in that dark hiding place, groping one another like the apocalypse was upon them and the hounds of Hell were nipping at their heels. His hands had been suddenly clumsy and heavy as he had traced the curve of her slender waist, her slight hips.

Pressed up against him, he had been conscious that she could feel his erection; it was an unavoidable reaction to her touch. This time, instead of recoiling, she had trailed her hands down the length of him tauntingly before grabbing a handful of him through his clothes. He had groaned loudly while worrying he would ruin his trousers like some bloody fourth-year. Nonetheless, he had grasped her bum in both hands and pulled her into him… and she had moaned his given name in a wanton gasp of a sound he would never have expected Gryffindor's swot extraordinaire could make…

He would never forget it either, that little gasp. In fact, that one delectable noise would probably constitute wank material for a good while.

When Peeves passed by twice without detecting them in such a compromising position, it seemed too good to be true. Rather than pressing their luck, they had disentangled themselves. By the time they had returned to their common room, they could no longer seem to meet one another's eye.

Back in his dormitory, Draco had to resort to rubbing one out, just to get some relief. That had been hours ago.

Now, Macmillan's gurgling snores droned out all other sound and the dormitory was utterly dark. Draco lifted his palms to his face and rubbed at his tired eyes, but no matter how he tried to drift away, slumber was just beyond his reach. Body sore with his perpetually inflamed joints, Draco's shoulders were tense with thoughts of what tomorrow was to bring. He closed his eyes, willing his body to rest, if not to sleep…

.

.

_"In here. Quickly," Narcissa whispered, ushering Draco into Lucius's study. She shut the door behind them and cast a charm on the room to ensure they would not be overheard._

_"What is it, mother?"_

_The room felt strange without his father's presence, forbidden almost; the entire Manor seemed to know his absence. The study was cold, vaguely smoky, and smelled stale. "There's something I need to give you. Hold out your hand."_

_Palm out, Draco extended his hand - but Narcissa flipped it over and slid a ring onto his index finger. It was heavy and before he even saw it, Draco knew what it was. A lump formed in his throat._

_"Your father left it behind when he reported for his mission at the Ministry," Narcissa explained. Draco noticed there was worry in her eyes. "His instructions were that if he were to be captured or killed, it should be bequeathed to you."_

_Draco stared at the bulky gold band with the heavy green stone set into it. Being given the Malfoy family signet ring was no small thing, though there was certainly quite a bit less pomp than he had always assumed accompanied such a ceremony. The heirloom had been resident on his father's hand for nearly a decade, and had sat on his grandfather's hand before that. Abraxas had passed away from a particularly nasty case of Dragon Pox, when Draco had been eight._

_He hated the tremor in his voice when he croaked out, "Are you sure? I'm sixteen."_

_Despite suppositions that she was merely decorative, Narcissa Malfoy was not a stupid woman. She knew exactly what was at stake and what she was asking of her son. "You are the Malfoy heir – the only heir, Draco – and with your father incarcerated, you are the natural head of the estate."_

_"I'm not yet of age… I don't know how to run an estate."_

_"It doesn't matter," she insisted, shaking her head. Her blonde hair, generally so immaculate, was somewhat lank today as if she had not been caring for herself. "Most of your father's business affairs will take care of themselves until we can free him from that dreadful place."_

_That dreadful place… Azkaban._

_Her voice went low and for the first time, Draco noted fear in her clipped tones. "Listen to me, Draco… the Dark Lord is angry with our family – very angry. He seeks retribution for your father's… mistake."_

_Father's mistake. Not a Malfoy family mistake._

_It was because of his father's mistake that he, Draco, was now given a man's responsibility at barely sixteen years of age. He wanted to be worried about normal things, like Quidditch and whether or not Salmeh Shafiq might give him a shot despite being two years his senior. Now he was meant to step into his father's shoes and there was certainly no time for frivolity as he struggled to accept a legacy he had ignorantly revered throughout most of his childhood: he had to be his father._

_His face hardened, "How could father fail? He knew what was at stake!"_

_Narcissa's eyes were veiled with sudden anger, "Don't speak of your father in that manner, you know not of what you speak. The Dark Lord will want you to take his place."_

_"I'm ready," he answered firmly, standing up straight and dropping his hand to his side, now burdened with the weight and responsibility of the signet ring. His anger burgeoned when he realized his mother did not believe him. Instead of being proud of his conviction, she pitied him. Malfoys were not meant to be pitied… surely she knew that?_

_Before he could say a thing, she continued, "You will be asked to take the Mark. Know this: while it is disguised as a request, it isn't one… and if you should fail at whatever task He sets you, He will kill you."_

_Stunned, Draco was unsure what to say. Surely the Dark Lord would not murder the sole heir of an independently influential and wealthy pureblood legacy? Wasn't he meant to champion the cause of scions like him? With this disturbing new thought, he questioned, "And you, mother?"_

_Narcissa chewed her lip in a nervous manner Draco had never seen her display before. "I will be forced to watch." She seized his hands, "Draco, you are the most precious thing to me. Any torture of my body is something I can bear – have born – with grace. Seeing you murdered… my son, my precious son… that would break me utterly and completely. You cannot fail."_

.

.

_You cannot fail…_

Draco could hear his mother's words whispering frantically in his ear as if she sat beside him on his four-poster. Quietly, he reached into the bedside drawer of his nightstand and pulled out the signet ring. He had never returned it to his father, despite the numerous opportunities he'd had. The truth of the matter was, that despite living with his parents for the majority of the war, he had barely spoken to Lucius for over two years. He was not even sure who that man was anymore.

It had been no small feat to mend the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things, but Draco had done it. In the end, however, he had not killed Dumbledore. He had no stomach for murder and he was no brute. His intellect had served his family by being of use Lord Voldemort… and the Sorting Hat had taken that into account at the beginning of eighth year, whispering that his cleverness had spared his entire bloodline from extinction.

The signet ring had become both a prized possession and a burden. He preferred not to wear it. Heavy, like the responsibility it represented, the green stone that sat in the center was smaller than a knut, but not by much. Into the stone was carved the Malfoy crest and coat of arms, along with the motto: _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._

Purity will always conquer.

Suddenly he did not feel so cocky about his earlier rendezvous with Granger.

_What would mother say?_ The thought made him ill. He shoved the ring back into his bedside drawer.

Sitting up to glance at the clock, Draco determined that it was barely four in the morning. The world outside the tower was cloaked in darkness, but he had no hopes of sleeping. He decided he would take a shower.

Climbing from bed, he quietly gathered his things and stepped into the bathroom off the dormitory, placing a Silencing Spell on the room so he would not disturb his dorm-mates (though Macmillan's snoring was in far more danger of doing so than a shower in the next room).

Stripping down was a fascinating experience in a way it never had been, now that he was covered in so many new marks and scars. Who knew Granger had so many battle scars?

The 'Mudblood' scar carved into his right forearm made him nauseous, especially since he had watched her receive it and done nothing. He was convinced the white scar on his throat was from the same evening of torture at the Manor; he seemed to recall his aunt Bellatrix pressing her cursed knife to Granger's neck and a few drops of freshly oxygenated blood beading bright red on her throat…

The mottled purple-and-blue blotch that stretched down his ribcage was something she had apparently got from Antonin Dolohov at the end of fifth year. Draco recalled Dolohov: he had always been ambivalent toward the man, but now felt an unmitigated pleasure that he was dead.

Determining the water was hot enough, he stepped into the shower and let the stream of water beat down on him in a reassuring barrage. He sighed as relief flooded his aching bones, continuing his inventory of newly inherited scars. There were many small cuts on his hands and fingers that looked as if they might be remnants from Potions class, but he inspected them each nonetheless.

Most perplexing of all were the random small burn marks that now littered his body. It was as if Granger had been slowly buried in many white-hot objects at some point. "Insane," he muttered, unsure if he meant it rudely or as a compliment. "She's bloody insane."

Running his fingers along one of the larger burns on his chest, Draco thought of how such a mark would look on Granger's breast. From there, it did not take long for his brain to conjure a general picture of Granger's tits. He had fondled them twice now and despite both instances having been over her clothing, he had a pretty good topographical map of what they must look like…

Mentally, he gave himself a good slap. Just because Draco chose not to wear the Malfoy family signet ring anymore, did not mean he had forgotten that the words etched into it would dictate his future, including his choice in a wife. _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._ Dismally, he thought, _All for family._

Following an hour-long shower, Draco toweled himself off and took his time making ready for the day. He did not need to be at McGonagall's office until noon, but he still left for breakfast the moment it was ready. He was the only student in the Great Hall at such an early hour, and left the moment others began arriving.

_May as well begin researching this ugly predicament,_ he reasoned. Thus, Draco spent a few hours by himself in the Stacks looking for information about alchemal bonds before Blaise came to collect him around ten.

"For the love of Morgana, Draco, do you spend every bloody moment in these infernal Stacks?"

Draco only shrugged, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Zabini from the common room and down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower. "How was the party last night?"

"It was quite the spectacle."

"Do tell."

But Blaise only shook his head enigmatically. Per their usual arrangement, they met Theo on their hidden fifth floor balcony. The Gryffindor was already more than halfway through his first cigarette of the morning.

Instead of greeting his friends, Theo effused a great gust of white smoke into the sunny morning air and winced at the sound of Blaise slapping a packet of cigarettes against his hand. "Can you not?"

"Didn't get your beauty sleep last night?" Blaise queried saltily, producing an engraved silver lighter that bore his initials from his pocket and selecting a cigarette.

"Hardly."

"Hmm, and where was it you disappeared with Astoria Greengrass to?"

"Bugger off, Zabini."

Blaise only smirked and lit up.

Draco cocked at eyebrow at his friend, "Did it occur to you that Daphne might not like the idea that you're messing around with her younger sister?"

Theo waved this away, disrupting a cloud of smoke as he did so and belatedly wincing at the movement. "Daph is too caught up with her overgrown ginger lover to notice what Astoria gets up to."

"Fine, then, did you ever wonder how many repercussions there might be to accidentally impregnating an underage pureblood witch?"

"Hey now, Draco, no need to be a stick in the mud," Theo protested with a halfhearted grin, his cigarette dangling from his lips. "In any event, she can't get pregnant if I've been doing her up the…" He stopped and glared at his cigarette, which had gone out. "Bugger."

"Sure sounds like it," Blaise huffed ironically.

_Of course Blaise sounds cheerful about that,_ Draco thought. _Gossip monger._

Outwardly, Draco grimaced and deeply expelled a cloud of smoke. "There's an unwanted image I will forever have burned onto the back of my eyelids. I hope you washed up afterward, but for Merlin's sake, _don't_ feel the need to confirm or deny that."

Theo burst into laughter before smothering it as he winced and held his head.

"Let me guess," Blaise said silkily, "you and Astoria indulged in perhaps a bit more liquor than was wise during your tryst?"

"Surely you aren't accusing me of wisdom!" Theo protested, snatching Blaise's lighter to ignite a second cigarette. "That's _your_ expertise, Ravenclaw. I'm just trying to enjoy the freedom that comes from acting the Gryffindor and being a reckless idiot. It's liberating."

Draco snorted.

Theo observed his friend carefully and warned, "Potter's been keeping an eye on your movements, Malfoy."

He wondered if this was as simple an observation as it seemed, or if it was something Theo had Seen.

Blaise rolled his eyes, "Remember sixth year? Potter's always been keeping an eye on Draco."

Theo grinned rakishly, no longer serious, "Who do you think would be the dominant one in bed?"

"Shove off," Draco commanded lazily. Nott had been trying to get a rise out of him for years with those sorts of comments. They had affected him, once. Now they were almost part of a routine.

Blaise appeared only politely amused. "Potter's been claimed by the Weasley girl, rendering your sickening voyeuristic tendencies obsolete, Theo."

"I may vomit," Draco drawled, playing along.

"Anyway, I suppose you're spoken for, too," Theo conceded.

Draco could have throttled him in that moment, but Theodore had always had a loose tongue. He could not help himself. He and Blaise together were just about the worst combination of gossips; Theo spilled everything he knew and Blaise simply soaked it all up like a sponge for possible later use.

Brows rising behind a cloud of white smoke, Blaise prompted, "Oh?"

Shooting a venomous look at Theo, Draco insisted, "You're an idiot, Nott."

"Is he?" Blaise queried tremulously. A beat. "Granger and Rivers broke up last night."

"Oh, really?" Theo did not look at all surprised by the news.

"Heard Rivers mentioning their split," Blaise interrupted softly. "They went out to the gardens and only he came back. He danced with Turpin and Bones and a few others, but Granger never came back." His dark eyes shifted to Draco, "That's interesting, isn't it?"

Turning to Blaise, Draco stressed, "Anything you might be guessing, Zabini, put it out of your head."

Blaise only smirked and answered, "Of course."

.

.

There were still a couple minutes to spare when Draco arrived at McGonagall's office that afternoon. Hermione was not there yet. As he shut the door behind him, the headmistress raised her head and regarded him for a long moment before acknowledging, "Mr. Malfoy."

He inclined his head and politely responded, "Headmistress."

"Is Miss Granger right behind you?"

"Not that I saw."

She fixed her eyes on his face and Draco felt he was being microscopically analyzed. He remained passive; it had been years since he let down his Occlumency barriers.

"Mr. Malfoy, I can't help but feel that you orchestrated this… mess, on some level," she told him baldly.

Draco wanted to chastise her for such thinking, but he did not dare. His family had historically preferred the role of power behind the throne, rather than the throne itself. For this reason, Malfoys were conspicuously never found at the scene of any crime, regardless of how deep into the jar their hands were.

_Until father,_ Draco mentally added, because it was the bitter truth.

The doorknob turned and Hermione entered. She seemed to be staring straight ahead and past him as she strode into the room. Draco thought he detected a hint of a blush as she anxiously inquired of the headmistress, "Am I late?"

"Precisely on time," McGonagall barked, though her eyes warmed at the sight of her. She wrapped up her deskwork and stood to retrieve her travelling cloak. "I've arranged for a private room at the Three Broomsticks for our conference. There is a carriage awaiting us by the Entrance Hall."

Granger wore a knitted white cap today, to keep her head warm against the first chill of November. Her honey-brown curls burst forth from the hem of the cap like a gushing waterfall, spilling around her shoulders and part-way down her back. Her cloak was thick and heavy. In fact, she might have been a nun but for Draco's memories of the previous night… and she was conspicuously avoiding his eyes.

He hid his smirk.

The few students they passed as they made their way through the castle were preoccupied with other tasks and did not even look up at the sight of them. The exception was one very small girl right outside the Great Hall. She might have been a second year, and she glared after Draco with unbridled hatred as he passed.

His brows furrowed at the sight of her. _Where have I seen her before…?_

.

.

_The dungeons were cold and dark, lit only by pale torchlight that spit and crackled at intervals. Amycus Carrow wiped tears of mirth from his beady eyes and hissed, "Go on, Malfoy. Hit her with it again."_

_A small girl with blonde pigtails and a Gryffindor uniform looked up from where she had crumpled to the floor in pain, panting with the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. Though her face was stained with tears, she glared at him defiantly, daring him to do it._

_A twinge of regret ricocheted through Draco. He did not want to do it, but he had no choice. Not really. If he didn't, the Carrows would take care of the girl themselves and the spell would be worse, stronger with their sick convictions. All of the other Slytherins had been forced to do it to other students, too: Greg, Vince, Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, Millicent… they had all done it. They were victims in their own way._

_He raised his wand, hating himself, and cast, "Crucio!"_

.

.

_Ah, Bollocks._

The same defiant eyes pierced him now. He looked away, hating himself all over again. The hope of redemption had always seemed to dangle teasingly on a string before him, a sun-catcher spinning slowly and catching his eye repeatedly as it sparkled enticingly in the bright light, before turning aside. Sure, the name of Draco Malfoy had been vindicated in the legal sense… but it had certainly never been redeemed. How could it be?

They were met by an awaiting thestral-drawn carriage that was to take them from the castle to Hogsmeade Village. Draco avoided the grotesque horse-like creatures despite knowing they meant him no harm. He offered his hand to McGonagall to help her into the carriage; she looked on him with surprise before accepting it and being handed in. He offered the same gesture to Hermione, who offered him a shy smile – the first time she had met his eye so far – and allowed herself to be handed in, too.

The ride down to the village was uneventful. Granger chatted with McGonagall about something they were studying in Transfiguration with the new professor. Draco did not join them, preferring instead to observe the passing scenery of the Forbidden Forest, the Black Lake, and the far Scottish mountains that were blue with distance.

He could not help but wonder at McGonagall's gall in calling a meeting with his mother – whose initial allegiance during the war had been no secret – and the Grangers, a pair of Muggles. Wouldn't it have been easier (read: more comfortable) to meet separately? Perhaps she had a reason…

Draco glanced to his two companions, still chatting about some Transfiguration topic he had not followed the thread of.

McGonagall was thoroughly Gryffindor, though she seemed to understand some of the nuances of being Slytherin, too. The thing was, Draco noticed Gryffindors always tended to operate in black and white, while Slytherins preferred to dwell in the gray in-between.

As for Granger, she made just as good a Ravenclaw as she did a Gryffindor. Draco was swiftly learning that Ravenclaws did not believe everything was simply a spectrum of black, white and gray. Rather, they sought the possibility of actual color. Resplendent color, if possible.

With the affectation that he was looking out at the passing grounds behind her, Draco casually observed Granger. She was lovely when she was animated about a topic - he noticed she tended to use her hands a lot while she talked - but he could not help noticing the witch had purple bruises under her eyes. Clearly, she had not slept well last night either.

Had she been lying awake all night, too?

The carriage ground to a halt.

"Excellent," McGonagall announced, standing to step down. Remembering his manners, Draco hopped down first and handed her from the carriage, then did the same for Hermione. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Now, I believe… ah, yes. Right on time."

His mother had quite a few more lines etched into her face than even the last time Draco had seen her – the war and its repercussions had not been kind to her – but she was still enchantingly beautiful. Her blonde hair was curled and impeccably coiffed, her blue and gray robes pristine and perfectly matched to her dark blue eyes. She stood outside the Three Broomsticks looking uneasy at being so exposed on the village street while alone.

And Malfoys did not _wait_ for people.

"Mother," he greeted, reaching out his hand, which she took and pressed fondly into with both of hers.

"Draco," she murmured, her voice a kind of elegant hum. She smiled in a strained sort of way.

Hermione's parents surprised him, though he could not have said what he was expecting.

Mr. Granger had a youthful face and could easily have passed for Hermione's older brother, rather than her father. The witch had clearly inherited her tumult of curls from the man, though on him it was cropped short and therefore easily styled because of its more manageable length. He was tall and handsome with a classical physique, extremely white teeth, and dark eyes. In fact, Draco suspected that if this man had not been a Muggle, his mother would have admired the fine figure he cut.

Hermione seemed to have inherited the rest of her features from her mother. The two women were precisely the same height and build, their facial shape, mouths, noses, eyes – identical. In fact, Hermione might have been a copy of her mother but for the fact that Mrs. Granger had sleek, rich chestnut hair that was naturally straight and easily contained. A small golden cross was the only jewelry she wore, but her clothing was immaculate, rather in the same way that Narcissa's was perfectly pressed with creases only in the correct places.

Draco thought it significant that they appeared so thoroughly Muggle compared to the ensemble the rest of them wore. It was almost like they were from two different worlds.

_We are,_ he reminded himself.

The Grangers appeared to be somewhat out of their element and were peering at their surroundings with a piqued, but somewhat nervous, interest. As soon as they came into sight, Hermione squeaked and ran to her mother. The woman embraced her, stroking her hair lovingly as Mr. Granger squeezed his daughter's shoulder and clapped her on the back. It was such a blatant display of public affection that Draco felt he had to look away.

"The doctors Granger, I presume?" McGonagall offered a firm handshake to the couple as Hermione pulled away from her mother to give her father a brief hug as well. She introduced herself, "Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School."

"Our daughter speaks very highly of you," Mr. Granger said, taking the offered hand and giving it a wary shake. "Please call us Todd and Natalie."

"Mrs. Malfoy," McGonagall greeted, inclining her head to the Malfoy matriarch.

"Headmistress," Narcissa answered calmly.

Draco noticed his mother stood away from the Grangers and close to himself, her eyes occasionally darting to them questioningly. Surely she was wondering why she had been called to a meeting with her son, the brains of the Golden Trio, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and a pair of Muggles. Draco could almost hear the wheels of her mind turning over all the possibilities.

"Shall we head inside?" McGonagall suggested, likely sensing the general unease of the group. "I have reserved a private room for us all to discuss a predicament our young people now find themselves in. Allow me to lead the way."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .
> 
> .
> 
> Thanks for your patience while I got this chapter together. It was a bit tougher than usual to write, because as you saw, this chapter was the first one from Draco's POV instead of Hermione's. I hope you enjoyed me shaking it up a bit.
> 
> Comments are the french bread and brie to my AO3 experience. Thank you to everyone who left their remarks, or encouraged me to continue.
> 
> Much appreciation to my beta, I_was_BOTWP, who looked over this chapter and kept me from peering down rabbit holes. I have a bad habit of that, but luckily, she has a long shepherd's crook to pull me back up.


	26. A Blessing

The Three Broomsticks was mostly empty on a Sunday afternoon. Todd Granger was glancing around appraisingly, seeming satisfied that it was a clean and welcoming establishment. Natalie's arm was linked tightly through her daughter's, though Hermione found it difficult to tell which one of them was meant to be reassuring the other.

"Good afternoon, Rosmerta," McGonagall greeted the proprietor.

"Afternoon, Minerva," answered the attractive witch behind the counter. She slid a tankard full of something that was smoking toward a wizened warlock at the end of the bar. "The room you requested is just up the stairs to your left there. I'm right behind you."

"Thank you."

If Madam Rosmerta found the group the headmistress had assembled to be odd, she did not betray that opinion. Draco stuck close to his mother and, Hermione noticed, kept his distance from the landlady. With sudden recollection, Hermione remembered that he had Imperiused Rosmerta two years prior, in order to convey a cursed necklace to Dumbledore up at the school. She was struck suddenly with the conviction that she really did not know Draco Malfoy at all, despite having spent much of the last month working with him.

Rosmerta followed them up with a platter of glasses floating behind her, along with pitchers of gillywater and butterbeer.

"Dad, you have to try this one," Hermione insisted in a low whisper, pouring her father a glass of butterbeer. She had often tried to describe the unique experience of the warming drink, but it was a difficult flavor to characterize.

"Do I finally get to sample the mystery draught?" Todd chuckled. Hermione watched as her father brought the glass to his lips and took his first sip. To her pleasure, a whimsical expression stole over his face. "Good Lord, that's… amazing… Natalie, you must try…"

However, Natalie Granger was clearly in no mood to be distracted by something so mundane as a beverage. As the others finished getting themselves situated, she accepted a glass but did not drink from it. Her eyes were darting from McGonagall to Narcissa Malfoy, before landing on Draco, who seemed to be leaning back nonchalantly in his chair and had fixed his eyes into a bored expression as he stared at the wall. Hermione was not fooled; she suspected Draco was feigning comfort in order to better casually observe the rest of the table without being obvious about it.

As was her wont, McGonagall wasted no time jumping into business. "You are all surely wondering what sort of predicament has caused me to assemble you here..."

"You're not pregnant, are you?" Natalie wailed, clutching her daughter's arm.

Hermione spluttered on her swig of butterbeer and flushed a brilliant shade of scarlet. " _No,_ Mum!"

"Thank God," the mother sighed, releasing her vice-like grip. "I hear the word 'predicament' and then you showed up with a _boy_ and… well, you're nineteen dear, so I couldn't help but wonder… I'm sure you understand… in fact, when _I_ was nineteen..."

Todd rested his hand on his wife's, and merely said, "Nat."

"Right. I'm rambling."

Hermione wished she could sink under the table.

"This situation is a little more complex, I'm afraid," McGonagall revealed, sipping her gillywater. Narcissa was watching the headmistress quietly but with sharp eyes. "Last Friday evening, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger took it upon themselves to perform some unsanctioned magic on the school grounds. They built an alchemical mandala... that is, they combined their extensive knowledge of potions, arithmancy, and ancient runes to properly conduct a very tricky bit of magic that, admittedly, many fully trained witches and wizards cannot perform correctly."

Natalie was already beginning to look disapprovingly at her daughter for breaking precedent. She was a stickler for rules.

Hermione tried to explain, "It was a cool bit of magic…" but this justification sounded unimpressive, even to her own ears.

McGonagall continued as if she had not spoken, "This magic was intended to summon the most basic forms of air and water elements: the archetypes. This is a subject we have been covering extensively in Alchemy this term." The headmistress paused to sip at her drink again. "The practical application of their studies was scheduled for next term. Two intelligent students working ahead might simply have qualified for extra credit, under different circumstances. Unfortunately, their mandala was disturbed."

"Disturbed?" Todd repeated, bewildered. He had almost finished his butterbeer.

Hermione shuffled her feet nervously and chanced a look at Draco. He was still maintaining strict eye contact with the far wall, though she noticed his shoulders had tensed.

"A unicorn happened to wander out from the forest and made its way into the mandala while Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy were performing the magic there."

Narcissa's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened, turning to look at her son with an expression of abject horror. Hermione dismally suspected Mrs. Malfoy had studied ancient runes during her time at Hogwarts.

Todd and Natalie remained nonplussed, but Natalie was begrudging about her ignorance: "You're going to have to explain to us what that means for our daughter, Headmistress. We're not magical folk and while I could certainly explain to you in excruciating detail how to perform a root canal, I have no idea what a unicorn inside a mandala means."

"In ancient runes and in alchemy, the unicorn represents the number one due to its singular horn," Narcissa spoke up unexpectedly. She, like her son, was not making eye contact with any of the others at the table. Rather, she was now nursing a glass in both of her hands and staring at the unmoving surface of her gillywater.

"Er," interjected Todd.

"In short," Minerva interpreted, "the presence of the unicorn ensured that our young people have bound their bodies together in a unique manner." She launched into a complicated discussion about the possible repercussions of such a binding, as well as describing the physical scars and aches Hermione and Draco now shared.

It all sounded exponentially worse coming from McGonagall's mouth; she did not sugarcoat anything and harped on the hard facts rather than the reasons behind them, though Hermione had not really expected her to do any differently. Natalie was on the edge of her seat and still had not taken a single sip of the butterbeer Hermione had poured her. Todd placed an arm protectively around his daughter's shoulders as he listened with a furrow in his brow. Narcissa had gone rigidly still and there was a definite frigidity about her person, though she continued to only stare at her gillywater. Hermione thought Draco looked as if he might be ill, though someone who did not know him well might have supposed he was merely being arrogant by not paying close attention.

"I have contacted an old friend of mine who is currently an actively practicing alchemist in Ireland, and explained the nature of the situation," McGonagall went on.

Nervously, Hermione interrupted, "I visited the library yesterday after Malfoy and I left your office, professor… to do some research."

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched following her admission, but he said nothing.

"There wasn't a lot to find," she admitted, picking at the sleeve of her uniform shirt. Voice trailing off at the end, she added, "At least not immediately…"

"Unfortunately, you are unlikely to find the answer in the Hogwarts library," Minerva said gently, seeming to recognize that the interruption had arisen from nerves rather than rudeness. "Our collection is an extraordinary vestige of knowledge, it's true, but the amount of information pertaining to alchemical accidents is slim." She produced a letter from the pocket of her travelling cloak. "However, because the essence of Salt was used – being the Body of alchemy, rather than the Spirit or the Soul – the expert I consulted believes there is a good chance this is reversible."

"This is a lot to take in at once, so let me be sure I understand," Natalie requested, her voice shaking with emotion. "My daughter and this young man have bound their bodies to one another?"

"Mum," Hermione whispered frantically, "it sounds worse than it is."

"Sounds pretty incriminating," Todd agreed with his wife. He turned to the headmistress, "You said there were possible methods to undo this enchantment?"

"As I said before, I have contacted a widely respected alchemist. However, Europe has no real experts on the subject since the death of Nicholas Flamel…"

"Nicholas Flamel!" Hermione exploded.

All eyes turned to her. Even Draco and Narcissa were now watching her with nearly identical expressions of vague notice that masked their true interest in the nature of her outburst.

"Er, sorry," she apologized, flustered. "Nicholas… that is, Mr. Flamel… he was the first known creator of the Philosopher's Stone, wasn't he?"

To everyone's surprise, Professor McGonagall's expression twisted into one of polite amusement. "Indeed, Miss Granger. Perhaps you are recalling your, ah, _enterprising_ feat from your first year with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, in regards to Mr. Flamel?"

"Sorry, but who was he?" Natalie queried.

Turning to her mother, Hermione explained, "Nicholas Flamel was born in 1327 and was an alchemist of considerable talent. He created the Philosopher's Stone and thus, the Elixir of Life, using information he collected from Leonardo da Vinci and Isaac Newton, among others. He died only a few years ago…"

"Only a _few_ years ago?" Todd scoffed. "He'd have to be…"

"Six hundred and sixty-six on his last birthday," Hermione confirmed knowledgeably. She thought she saw Draco smirk ever so slightly – could almost hear him teasingly calling her a swot – but when she glanced at him, his expression was neutral.

Todd let out a low whistle, "The Elixir of Life, you say? I suppose it'd have to be, to live so long."

There was new a question nagging at Hermione now: "But Professor, what does Nicholas Flamel have to do with this experiment?"

"Mr. Flamel was able to discover the Elixir of Life, it's true," Minerva mused. "But in doing so, he first had to discover the archetype of quintessence."

"What…?" Natalie began.

McGonagall was already ahead of her: "Quintessence is often considered the fifth element – though it is not really an element at all. It's different in the same way that plasma is sometimes considered to be a form of matter merely because it is not a true solid, liquid or gas. But plasma is something else altogether and in that same way, so is quintessence. It is an elemental archetype and it isn't. Nonetheless, it is essential to the creation of the Elixir of Life. Nicholas Flamel was the first known alchemist to create quintessence."

"But what does this have to do with…?" Natalie tried again.

"The alchemist I contacted insisted that summoning the archetype of quintessence is one of only two possible solutions to this predicament."

All color drained from Hermione's face and she burst out, "But that's… nearly impossible! People have been trying for centuries..."

Natalie looked perturbed and did not seem convinced of her own words when she spoke, "I'm sure there must be some other way to undo this enchantment."

Turning to Mrs. Granger, the headmistress tried to explain, "You must understand that this sort of magical binding isn't actually an _enchantment._ Rather, it's a blessing. Similar to one that might be bestowed upon a marriage or the birth of a child."

"I'm afraid I don't understand the difference between an enchantment and a blessing," Todd admitted. His arm, still draped protectively over his daughter's shoulders, flexed minutely. "At least not in magical terms."

To everyone's surprise, Narcissa answered him, though she continued to look straight down at her untouched gillywater as she spoke, "There are many types of spells. Dark magic includes curses or hexes. Light magic is more typified by charms or blessings. Spells like enchantments are more neutral and can tend in either direction."

"So a blessing isn't Dark magic," Natalie snapped. She seemed unwilling to be polite any longer in her haste to get answers which she felt were being withheld. "What does that mean?"

"Being of the Light, a blessing barely affects one's physical or magical self," McGonagall jumped in. "It is the opposite of Dark magic, which leaves stains on one's magical core, no matter how small the spell or how innocent the intention. However, that does not preclude Light magic being powerful in its own way."

"I think I follow so far," Todd encouraged, "though I'll admit I'm having a hard time trying to figure out where this conversation is headed."

The headmistress seemed to be dreading this part of the conversation in particular as she took a long drink from her gillywater before replying.

_She's stalling,_ Hermione noticed with interest. She had never known McGonagall to waffle about anything before.

Finally, "A blessing lingers for a year and a day before it can be magically undone. When a blessing is bestowed upon a newborn child, it is extremely tricky to do away with - if, in fact, such a thing is warranted. In the case of wizarding marriage, such a blessing can only be undone by a wizarding divorce." McGonagall now turned to look expressively at Hermione. "A divorce is neutral magic and it unbinds all enchantment. For example, were someone under the influence of Polyjuice or the Imperius, a wizarding divorce would unbind them from such shackles…"

"Merlin and Agrippa!" Hermione swore as everything clicked into place within her mind. "You want us to get _married_!"

"The expert I contacted thought it would be the easiest way to undo the mandala's magic," the headmistress admitted. McGonagall's words were no-nonsense as always, but her expression had softened considerably.

Todd spoke up immediately. "No. Absolutely not."

Hermione was vaguely aware that her parents had begun arguing, not only with McGonagall, but amongst themselves. She, meanwhile, had slipped into a strange state of consciousness: cognizant of her surroundings, yet not. She thought she might be on the verge of another panic attack.

Heart quickening, she was bodily aware of the blood pulsing through her arteries. In fact, Hermione could almost say she felt the neurons firing throughout her body, branching through axons and dendrites - but surely she could not be aware something so cellular. Draco's eyes flickered up to her face as if he had noticed her panic, though he could do nothing to help her from the other side of the table.

"If the bond remains in place as it is," McGonagall was trying to advise, "neither Mr. Malfoy nor Miss Granger will be able to marry anyone else."

Strangely detached from the argument breaking out all around her – in which Todd had begun to speak with a raised voice he did not often use and Natalie was spitting with anger – Hermione vaguely noticed Narcissa had joined the argument.

"The bond is already marriage-like in nature," the pureblood witch was explaining (rather patiently, considering the vein that was throbbing in her temple). "Wizarding marriages are not only legal bindings, but magical ones as well…"

"I fail to see how that is my daughter's problem," Natalie interrupted. "So they share a bodily bond of sorts. Why should that prevent them marrying other people?"

Narcissa stopped her coldly, and in a voice that could have commanded armies, elucidated, _"My son_ is the sole heir to one of the oldest and most powerful wizarding estates in Britain! He _must_ marry a suitable, reproductively compatible witch at some point to continue that tradition. However, since he is currently bound to Miss Granger, doing so is impossible for him. Therefore, even if he were to attempt marriage to another, there is no guarantee that everything would work out well for the estate."

_"Not_ Hermione's problem!" Todd growled.

_Breathe, Hermione. You can do it. Just breathe._

Narcissa shifted her cold, blue eyes to Mr. Granger and stared at him in a manner she might do as if he were a bit of sludge that had dared stick itself to her shoe. "It certainly _is_ Miss Granger's problem if she ever wishes to enter into the marriage state."

"There are other ways to be wed," Todd protested, going red in the face. "Normal marriages aren't this… ridiculous."

"Dad," Hermione warned, but she did not sound very threatening. Instead, she only sounded tiny as she struggled to keep her breathing steady. _Breathe… just breathe…_ "Please don't…"

"If you think your daughter will be happy being married to a Muggle – an inferior man in terms of skill and intelligence, unattached to the world she's immersed herself in – then you are blind." Hermione was unsure if it was her imagination, but the Malfoy matriarch sounded quite smug when she spoke these words, as if she had been simply dying to make a disparaging Muggle-related comment the entire time and had only now found an opportunity. Hermione's face burned with shame, but she was too caught up in not having a meltdown to defend herself, her parents, or the world she came from.

_Just breathe… in and out… in and… out… in… and…_

"What are you suggesting, mother?" Draco finally spoke up.

Narcissa clicked her tongue at her son in an exasperated manner, as though she thought he should have caught on by now. "You must marry Miss Granger, of course – so you can divorce in a year and a day."

The room was silent for two full seconds – two seconds that seemed an eternity – for no one knew what to say to this announcement.

Finally, Hermione was able to stutter out, "W-What? But… but if the divorce doesn't work… Malfoy and I… we're stuck _married_!"

Perhaps it was her imagination, but a strange expression seemed to briefly pass over Draco's face before disappearing entirely.

"I fail to see how this is an issue for _you_ ," Narcissa retorted, folding her arms over her chest and staring down her aristocratic nose at her. "You certainly have nothing to lose from it, I'm sure. It is a far bigger risk for the traditions of the Malfoy family."

"Mother," Draco cautioned lowly.

But Hermione had inexplicably collected herself at this bout of rudeness and had switched from pending panic attack into battle mode. "Oh, right – of course it would be considered a 'good match' for me to marry into your supremacist family that thinks I and everyone like me, are scum!"

"And what does _that_ mean?" Todd demanded, angrily looking from Hermione to Narcissa. He had gone red in the face, just like his daughter.

Mrs. Malfoy folded her arms across her chest and coolly responded, "It simply means that under any other circumstances, I would be loath to invite Miss Granger, or any of her kind, to integrate themselves into my family."

"Narcissa," McGonagall warned through her clenched teeth. "This is unwise."

The witch seemed not to hear. "Mudbloods are the greatest cankers of wizarding society. Their greed for magic prevents them from seeing or caring about the damage they do to good, _respectable_ …"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence!" Hermione implored, jumping from her seat and knocking clumsily into the table as she did so. Natalie's untouched butterbeer tipped and spilled, rapidly spreading down the length of the table. No one made a move to clean it up. Hermione was glaring at Narcissa with as much venom as she could muster, "I am _not_ marrying your son, you… you spoiled, selfish _hag_!"

With that, she strode across the room and wrenched the door open to leave.

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall called after her.

"I'll go after her," Draco could be heard volunteering as Hermione tore down the stairwell to the exit.

_Breathe! Just breathe..._

"You'll do no such thing!" Todd countered. "You've done enough damage as it is, boy."

"Hermione!" Natalie called.

But Hermione could not stop. She kept going until she had left the Three Broomsticks entirely and was halfway down the main street of Hogsmeade before she realized it was too exposed. Ducking down a side street that seemed to be mainly comprised of private residences, she was able to stop and catch her breath.

_Breathe in... breathe out… keep it together, Hermione…_

The moment her breathing began to steady, she felt queasy. She clutched at a bit of fencepost that encircled a neat garden and yard in front of someone's tidy cottage.

The cold voice of Narcissa drawled, _You must marry Miss Granger, of course._

Then, Theodore Nott's face materialized in the forefront of her mind, looking smug as he cleaned his glasses: _One thing I saw for certain, was you and Draco – and you're married._

"Granger!" Draco's voice could be heard calling after her from down the lane.

There was only a split-second's notice - barely enough time for Hermione to gather her hair to keep it from her face - before she vomited spectacularly into the garden's compost heap on the other side of the fencepost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait between chapters! I was on vacation...
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left me a comment or kudos! People who comment are like free ice cream on a hot, summer day. Ahh, that's good.
> 
> I also want to give thanks to my freakin' fantastic beta (I_was_BOTWP), who is experiencing lots of exciting things in her life at the moment, but still found some time to look over this chapter for me and give me her thoughts and opinions. This chapter is better for it, for sure.


	27. Turning Point

"I can't believe you called my mother a hag."

"I'm not sorry in the slightest!" Hermione fumed, using her wand to vanish the splatter of sick from the defiled compost heap. "Did you happen to hear what _she_ said to _me_?"

Draco stood a few paces away at the end of the lane with his hands in his pockets. Shaking his head, he corrected, "You misunderstand me. I'm in _awe_ of the fact that you called my mother a hag and you're still alive…"

Hermione glanced guiltily at the compost heap; now that she had removed all evidence of vomit, it appeared only innocently pastoral, but she still felt bad about it. Not to mention she was still vaguely queasy. She wanted to laugh, but it came out a strangled sob instead.

The lane of neat cottages and tidy yards that made up residential Hogsmeade stretched a short way down from the young people before turning gently back onto the main street. At the end of the way was a tall lamppost, beside which Professor McGonagall and Narcissa Malfoy had stationed themselves. Though they were some distance apart from one another, both seemed to have the same aim of watching Hermione and Draco interact while pretending they were not doing exactly that.

"I'm not sure what to do with a crying girl in a public place, so please don't do that to me," Draco requested plainly. His eyes flickered to where his mother was waiting, then back to Hermione.

"I am not crying," she insisted indignantly. She wasn't. "I'm… frustrated. I hope you haven't come to collect me for an answer to this business, because this is way too big a decision to be made in the moment."

"I agree."

She paused in her pacing. "You… agree?"

"That's what I said, yes."

"You do not get to be snarky at a moment like this, Malfoy."

"Why not? A little snark usually makes me feel better."

Hermione sighed deeply, but visibly relaxed at his admission that he was not keen on finding an immediate answer. "I can't believe they want us to…" She did not feel able to finish the sentence. "We aren't even friends."

Draco did not try to convince her otherwise, but admitted, "I had a funny feeling something like this might be coming. After Theo told me what he'd Seen about the future… then McGonagall called this meeting… Well, it wasn't really surprising."

Silently, they stood in awkwardness about three paces from one another. Hermione noticed one of Draco's hands was tucked into his pocket, while the other idly twirled his wand. She resumed her pacing.

" _I_ was surprised," she told him honestly.

"I saw. You have to admit, we do have some pretty good physical chemistry."

Drawing her eyes to the ground, Hermione began to inspect a pebble with great interest – anything but meeting his eyes. "That was a mistake."

"I don't consider it a mistake."

"Perhaps the word 'mistake' is unkind," she amended, "I only meant that we shouldn't have done it."

"We did, though," he snapped. A few blue sparks emitted from the tip of his wand, as if it were as irritable as he was. "There isn't any going back and changing it, just like there's no going back and fixing the mandala interruption. We are facing the consequences of our actions, and that is something I've been getting good at lately. Plenty of experience, you know."

She made a small noise of sympathy, which Draco did not seem to appreciate, as he grit his teeth in annoyance. To soothe his anger, she murmured, "I'm sorry you've been dragged into all of this with me. I didn't want this."

Looking thoughtful for a moment, he unclenched his jaw and muttered, "It didn't go very well, did it? That meeting."

"No, it certainly didn't," Hermione agreed darkly. She cast a black look down the lane to where Narcissa was waiting.

The Malfoy matriarch was standing stiffly near the lamp-post at the corner of the main road and the tiny lane Hermione had fled down. The woman's face was contorted into a nasty look that suggested she had recently swallowed something particularly unpleasant. She glared at a passer-by, who sped up once he had caught sight of her expression.

McGonagall, meanwhile, was waiting on the opposite side of the road and was taking in her surroundings calmly, though there was a certain rigidity about her posture - more even than her usual. All in all, they appeared almost like bodyguards perusing the area.

"I wonder why McGonagall didn't try to explain everything separately?" Draco mused. "My parents are still very… well, they've got a narrow mind-view of the world and a flawed idea of what they think it should be. I'm sorry my mother attacked you the way she did. I'm going to have a word with her."

"How can you just 'have a word' with her? She's your mother. You're her son. She probably won't listen…"

Holding up his hand from his pocket, Draco gestured to the bulky ring that sat heavily on his pointer finger. "This is my family's signet ring. It means I'm the head of the household."

"But… your father…?"

"...Is not the one who runs the estate anymore," he said firmly, dropping his hand back into his pocket. "That's _me_ now and has been for over two years. While I owe my parents a certain amount of filial allegiance, I only consult their opinions out of respect for them. My mother should not have said what she did to you or your parents. It was improper and unnecessary. Not to mention, I can't fathom why she and father still ascribe to that pro-pureblood mindset anymore. If the war taught me one thing, it's that blood superiority is clearly horseshit."

_Wow_. Stunned, Hermione regarded Draco for a long moment until he began to fidget under her gaze. She wondered if he was aware of how much he had changed.

Finally, in a small voice, she said, "To be fair, my father didn't make things any easier. He's still, er, very touchy about me – overprotective, even – ever since I had to Obliviate them both. When I restored their memories I explained to them as best I could why I'd done it and that I had needed to protect them. Mum understood and forgave me almost immediately, but it took Dad three full days of being shut in his office to be able to even look at me properly. He said he felt as if he'd failed as a parent somehow." She began to nibble her bottom lip in consternation. "I think that came out again today."

"It seems both our parents have insecurities about their inability to control the actions of their children."

"That's an astute observation."

"That's the only kind I make."

Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling quite a bit less queasy than before.

"Draco," she said suddenly, turning to look at him again. He looked extremely tired, with purple bruises under his eyes; despite his sauciness, he featured a downturned mouth. "We're both over seventeen, which makes us adults in the eyes of the wizarding world. I understand that the school might count us as minors in some ways because of our role as students, but we can make our own decisions about this mess, right?"

He cast her an ironic look before drawling, "You mean in choosing between Scylla and Charybdis? Of course we can. No one can force us to do anything."

A deep sigh of relief met his pronouncement, "That's good."

"But like you said, this is a lot to take in all at once. Let's sleep on it."

"Right," she nodded. "I want to be able to do my own research before we make any decisions. What if there's something this alchemist missed? How could one person - even an expert - possibly have calculated all our options in only twenty-four hours? I don't see how it can only come down to getting divorced or achieving the near impossible; there has to be another way if only we look hard enough."

Though he did not seem convinced, Draco granted, "It could be so."

"And I still want to talk to my parents about…" She was staring at the end of the lane now with a sudden, horrifying realization dawning on her face. "Are my parents alone in a wizarding establishment?"

He shrugged, "They're up in the room at the Three Broomsticks still. McGonagall went off after you and advised them to stay put. I followed her, and my mother followed me…"

"I have to get back to them!" she exclaimed. She could have smacked herself for being so so focused on herself as to forget them. "They can't protect themselves here, they're Muggles…"

Without a further word, and before Draco could protest, Hermione Disapparated with a crack.

The next moment, her feet landed on the creaking planks of the private room at the Three Broomsticks. Though both Todd and Natalie jumped at the sight of her sudden appearance, Hermione only felt thankfulness that they were safe and unmolested.

"Thank goodness," she sighed, mitigated.

"Where did you run off to?" Natalie gasped, crossing the room to clasp Hermione's hands in her own. She had been pacing the room in the same manner Hermione had done outside, just moments ago.

Todd, who had sat heavily into one of the wooden chairs and buried is face in his hands, now stood to envelop his daughter into a bone-crushing embrace. When he finally released her, his expression revealed he was somewhat ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry for shouting," he apologized remorsefully. "I shouldn't have let my temper get the better of me."

"It's alright, Dad."

"You're not going to marry that boy, are you?" Natalie wanted to know.

"Draco and I will decide on nothing today," her daughter answered softly. "We spoke about it and we agree that it's in our best interests to do our own research and make sure these really are the only ways out…"

"I hate that I can't fix this for you."

"I know, Dad. I hate that I got myself into this mess in the first place."

"That woman is quite possibly one of the most unpleasant people I have ever met." Natalie shuddered at the thought of Narcissa Malfoy. "I almost wish I could give her a root canal without anesthesia, but then I'd have to touch her."

"Rude, Natalie," Todd pointed out, but he was smiling appreciatively at his wife's sentiment, as only a fellow dentist could.

The door to the room swung open once more, causing all three Grangers to jump. The intruder turned out only to be McGonagall, who was looking both stern and exhausted. She examined Hermione over the rims of her spectacles and reprimanded, "Miss Granger, you gave us quite a scare, first when you ran off and then _again_ when you Disapparated without warning…"

"I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't think it was right to leave my parents here on their own. This is an all-magical town, after all."

Both Todd and Natalie looked embarrassed at this statement, but Minerva nodded, agreeing, "I'm sure you did the right thing and your sentiments are admirable. You all should know that Narcissa Malfoy has departed for her home at her son's insistence, which she agreed was for the best." Approvingly, she continued, "Meanwhile, Mr. Malfoy has graciously agreed to wait downstairs for as long as necessary to allow your family some privacy while you discuss the matter at hand."

"He's not waiting for an _answer_?" Todd challenged, eyes flashing and nostrils flaring.

The headmistress regarded him keenly, "Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, and I must all return to the castle together. I cannot allow a student to walk across the grounds so far on his own, especially not after such an ordeal… and you will, I hope, forgive me, Dr. Granger... but at my age, I find I can no longer trek up to the castle on foot without some difficulty."

"We understand, headmistress," Natalie put in gently, placing a hand on her agitated husband's shoulder.

Turning to Hermione, Todd's eyes were still stormy when he requested, "Tell me about this Malfoy family, Hermione."

"They were involved in the war you fought, weren't they?" Natalie pressed.

The headmistress cleared her throat and asked, "Shall I give you some privacy?"

"No," Hermione requested. "Please stay, professor."

"Very well." Minerva made herself comfortable in the nearest chair and flicked her wand at the pitcher of gillywater, which obligingly began to pour her a glass.

Hermione sank into a seat and suggested to her parents, "You may want to sit down. It's a long story."

When they obliged, sitting down at the table and looking at her expectantly, Hermione took a deep breath. She had spoken to her parents about the war, of course – it had been necessary once she started experiencing panic attacks – but she had never gone into much detail about specific events. _How will they take this? Will they understand? Will they treat Draco with compassion?_

More importantly, why did that last question suddenly matter to her?

She released her held breath... and then she told them everything.

.

.

"I do not want Hermione to have to do her patrols alone with that boy," Todd insisted strongly. His fists were clenched in his lap.

"It would be of little difficulty to have Miss Patil or Mr. Macmillan change the rotations," McGonagall replied mildly. She seemed to have been expecting Mr. Granger to have this reaction.

"Please don't change the rotation, professor," Hermione contradicted pleadingly, earning her a surprised look from both her mother and the headmistress.

Todd glared at her indignantly, "I'm not sure why you were ever forced to be alone with him in the first place, given the history you've just related to us!"

"Dad, please listen to me. I fought in that war, I know what I'm doing…"

"What exactly _are_ you doing?" Natalie queried.

Hermione closed her eyes, hoping her answer would be clear as she related, "If I switch shifts now, inevitably a rumor will spread around the castle that Draco hexed me behind my back or something equally nefarious. That, unfortunately, is the current social climate amongst the students in the aftermath of that horrible war. It will sow seeds of mistrust, which will damage the slow headway we are currently making in the rebuilding process.

"Instead I ask you to trust me – and Draco – not to behave inappropriately. I realize the stature of such a request, given the circumstances, but in leaving the patrols as they are you will be giving us time to determine if there are any other ways out of this mess we can discover through our own research."

"Oh, sweetheart," Natalie sighed. She seemed both exasperated and intensely proud of her daughter.

"I don't like it," Todd begrudgingly admitted, "but you make a pretty speech, pumpkin. I haven't been able to change your mind on any subject you felt strongly about for years now, so have it your way."

Turning to McGonagall, Hermione asked, "You arranged me being prefects with Malfoy on purpose to make a statement, didn't you?"

"Shrewd observation, Miss Granger. I thought you could handle him if it came to that, and you were certainly brave enough to take him on. It was another reason I didn't make you Head Girl. Mr. Malfoy is clever; I wanted to be sure I was making the correct decision in offering him an olive branch. He had to make many difficult decisions during the war, most of which I believe he regrets now. Additionally, Professor Dumbledore saw something he believed could be redeemed in Draco Malfoy. As it happens, Albus was remarkable at determining one's character…"

"That was why you asked me to keep an eye on him," she stated. It was not a question.

"Yes."

"But that was so much of a _risk_ ," Natalie whispered, agitated. "What if you were wrong and he had…. I don't know… tortured Hermione, or _killed_ her when they were alone?"

"Draco has been nothing but a gentleman to me," Hermione jumped in before her father could speak up. She was hit with a sudden recollection of what she and Draco had done together in the Slytherin stands on Halloween night, and then again behind the painting on the fourth floor. It almost felt like a lie. She tried to cover up her slight blush by forcing out more words: "He's also an excellent study partner, as I found out when we were researching the mandala. We are going to try finding a way out of this mess together – and will determine a course of action _only_ once we feel we have informed ourselves appropriately. I only ask that this remain a secret in the meantime."

"Of course," McGonagall agreed instantly.

Both Todd and Natalie nodded, though they appeared uneasy. Mrs. Granger broke the uncomfortable silence that followed with, "You'll be home for Christmas break, won't you, love?"

"Yes, Mum. Wouldn't miss it."

Brushing a stray curl behind her daughter's ear, Natalie kissed her cheek and suggested, "Make us proud."

"She always has," Todd added unhappily. "Even if we didn't like it."

_Dad's_ _still_ _upset_ , Hermione concluded. _He_ _needs_ _time_.

With nothing further to be said, the Grangers collected their belongings and made their way back down the stairs. Draco was waiting patiently at an out-of-the-way table; if he was annoyed with how long he had been waiting, he did not betray it.

Before anyone could suggest otherwise, Natalie approached him. "Hermione has explained to us what happened during the war and the part you played in it. She also insists that despite a rocky past, you've been nothing but a gentleman to her this year. I'd like to apologize for the way my husband and I behaved when we heard this… news. I hope you and my daughter can get to the bottom of things."

Todd harrumphed but Hermione beamed at her mother in gratitude.

Surprised, Draco answered, "I insist that your apology is unnecessary in light of my mother's behavior. Your daughter is a remarkable witch. I'm sure we'll do our best to find an alternative answer."

Once Todd and Natalie departed, the headmistress led her students back to the carriage that would return them to Hogwarts. As before, Draco handed both ladies in before hopping inside himself, and without further ado, they trundled back up the road toward the school. The path was relatively straight, which made for rather unvaried scenery. Hermione found herself drained and wishing for her bed, despite that it was hardly supper time.

McGonagall, it seemed, had one more thing to impart. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, I have something further to mention to you both, which I thought best to do in private rather than in front of your parents."

_The_ _whole_ _conversation_ _would_ _have_ _gone_ _better_ _if_ _conducted_ _that_ _way_ , Hermione reflected unkindly. She was not feeling particularly charitable toward McGonagall at the moment.

"My alchemist friend also warned against partaking in sexual intercourse, should you wish to pursue unbinding the mandala in any other way than divorce." ( _Wow_ , _McGonagall_ _really_ _gives_ _it_ _to_ _you_ _straight_ , Hermione marveled; she was sure her face was as red as a radish and she did not dare look at Draco). "In any event, such physical relations would not be recommended if either of you want to find a way out of this, in case he is correct."

Hermione tried to think of a response, but her mind seemed suddenly littered with gibberish. Luckily, Draco answered for them both, "While unnecessary, the fact that this warning was conveyed privately is appreciated, professor."

McGonagall inclined her head.

"In light of the fact that we will be working together on an exit strategy, I wonder if we might have the letter you were sent?"

"An excellent idea, Mr. Malfoy."

Minerva surrendered the letter, leaving Hermione and Draco to overcome their embarrassment by perusing it in silence for the remainder of the carriage ride back to the castle. The headmistress dismissed them at the school's entrance, parting ways as she made her way toward the Great Hall for an early dinner.

Alone, Draco and Hermione stood awkwardly in the Entrance Hall for a moment.

"I've got no appetite whatsoever after that," she admitted quietly. "I think I'm just going to head up to Ravenclaw Tower for a bit. Are you coming?"

Draco shook his head. "After that ordeal, I need a cigarette. Or ten."

For once, Hermione did not really blame him. Feeling much more at ease once he was out of sight – presumably for the dungeons – she made her way up to Ravenclaw Tower alone and lost in thought. Without quite realizing how she had done it, she presently found herself in front of the eagle head door-knocker.

"What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees – up, up it goes, and yet never grows?"

Sluggishly, her brain picked apart the question and it took Hermione a good deal longer than it normally did to answer, "A mountain."

"Well done," complimented the door-knocker, swinging inward.

Mercifully, the common room was devoid of obstacles. Hermione retired straight to her dormitory and dressed for bed, pulling the curtains around her on her four-poster and falling directly into a fitful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to you if you noticed the nod to The Hobbit in the Ravenclaw guardian’s riddle. I also want to say thank you to everyone who left comments. You are so appreciated.
> 
> Lastly, huge shout-out to MammaWeasley27, who beta’d the first half of this chapter, despite being so pregnant she could pop at any second. lol You rock, lady! Thank you.


	28. The Aftermath

"Morning!" Daphne announced in Hermione's ear.

"Owww… was it necessary to be so loud?"

"You're going to miss breakfast!"

"Mmph," Hermione answered, facedown in her pillow.

"Fine, _I'm_ going to miss breakfast if you don't get up… which I will _not_ thank you for, because I _need_ to tell you what happened at the Halloween Dance after you _ungraciously_ left without saying good-bye. And _without_ your date, I noticed." Daphne huffed. "I haven't seen you since then because you've been _asleep_ for roughly _fifteen hours_!"

Hermione groaned. "Why are you so chipper?"

"You would _know_ if you woke up to hear my story!" her friend insisted. "You're a terrible confidante, honestly…"

Dragging herself up from recumbency into a sitting position was about as difficult as the time Hermione had been suddenly wakened from a basilisk-induced coma. She groggily pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes and blinked the sleep away.

"Merlin, Granger, your _hair_! Are you going to be able to tame that thing?"

Hermione glared, snatching a hair tie from her bedside table and pulling her wild curls away from her face, grumbling, "We can't all do Lisa's charms…"

"They really are amazing," Daphne agreed, unrepentant. She was beginning to impatiently study the mantle clock over the dormitory fireplace.

Belatedly, it occurred to Hermione that if the dormitory was otherwise empty but for the two of them, it meant that the other three girls were likely already at breakfast. Her own glance toward the clock and the reminder that she had morning classes to get to, woke her up the rest of the way and she set about making herself ready as fast as she could. She felt disoriented, like she had slept for an age; her bones creaked in protest as she moved about, almost as if they knew it was Monday morning.

"Did I really sleep for fifteen hours?"

"At least," Daphne confirmed.

Surprised, she admitted, "I really didn't feel well yesterday…"

"I figured as much, which is the _only_ reason I didn't wake you to tell you my news yesterday!"

"Are you only going to keep saying that you have news? Or are you actually going to tell me what it is?" Straightening her blue-and-bronze uniform tie, she tucked it into the front of her robes and glanced in the mirror to be sure she was presentable. She was somewhat surprised that she was, given the alacrity with which she had thrown everything on.

"Well, now that you're finally _listening_ …" Daphne smirked, continuing to eye Hermione's barely contained hair somewhat dubiously. "So, first off, do you know what Ron and Finnegan were up to on Halloween when they weren't at the dance?"

Scowling, Hermione grabbed her bookbag, checking quickly to be sure the correct materials were inside. "I remember they were flinging spit-wads at people. I told them off and they went to go find Peeves so they could do the same to him."

"Circe knows why…"

"I take it Peeves caught them in the act?" She knew the poltergeist had, but she did not want to explain why she knew. Admitting to Ginny that she had snogged Draco in private had been difficult enough; she was not ready to start explaining it to anyone else. Not to mention, it was meant to be a secret...

Daphne chuckled, "Sure did."

Hermione winced appropriately. Dealing with Peeves was never pleasant.

The girls left the dormitory and Daphne continued, "For revenge, Peeves found a few buckets of Filch's foul mopping water and absolutely _drenched_ them..."

"Oh dear," Hermione chuckled, her black mood dissipating.

"... And in that state, Ron shows up on the dance floor…"

"He didn't!"

"…Looking as if he'd been drowned. At first I thought it was a very convincing costume, but then I noticed he was leaving puddles." She paused here to snicker. "Anyway, he marches up to me – sopping wet, mind you – and insisted he had got water dumped on him on purpose so he could match my costume and ask me to dance. I mean, we _did_ sort of match, but he also smelled like a dirty mop…"

"Smooth, Ron," Hermione joked as the girls passed a portrait of gossiping monks.

"…But I danced with him anyway and the real story with Peeves came out. I've never met someone that made me laugh so hard in my life. He's outrageous!"

"That's Ron," she agreed. "He and Harry together are a menace when they're in the mood."

"Well, that's another thing…"

" _There_ you are!" Ginny interrupted loudly from across the hall as the girls made an appearance in the Great Hall at last.

Hermione spotted that Ginny was sitting with Harry, Ron and Luna at the Hufflepuff table. Nudging Daphne, she nodded toward her friends and invited, "Come sit with us."

Daphne seemed to pause a moment – she usually sat with Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode at the Slytherin table for breakfast – but her eye caught Ron's. He was scooting over to make room for her next to him and gesturing eagerly for her to come sit.

"Okay," she consented with a small smile.

The girls made their way to the end of the long table and Hermione settled herself beside Ginny, while Daphne made herself comfortable across from her and next to Ron.

"Hey," Ron said to Daphne, eyes locked onto her.

"Hey," she breathed back, a pink tinge coloring her cheeks.

"Good morning, everyone," Hermione greeted.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry responded, eyeing her suspiciously, "we missed you yesterday."

"I looked everywhere," Ginny pouted. "I even asked Luna to break into Ravenclaw Tower."

"That's silly, Ginny," Luna answered serenely. "Anyone is welcome into the Ravenclaw common room if they're clever enough to answer the riddle at the door."

No one tried to argue with the former-Ravenclaw. Instead, Hermione found herself explaining, "I wasn't feeling well. I mostly stayed in my dorm and slept."

"She did go to bed wicked early," Daphne confirmed.

"But you missed the best part of Saturday night, 'Mione," Ron protested, his mouth half-full of sausage. "Harry and I had a dance."

Hermione turned to Harry with her eyebrows raised, and he grinned in response, miming dancing with someone ballroom-style.

Daphne spoke up, "That was what I tried to tell you about on the way here."

"Oh dear, you actually did?" Hermione laughed as she chose a jam to spread on her toast.

"You missed it," Harry teased. Then, very seriously, he informed her, "Ginny was angry with Ron for stealing me away. Totally jealous. Sibling rivalry, you know?"

"Was not!" Ginny insisted indignantly, flinging a bit of egg at her boyfriend.

"You were."

"It was the talk of the school," Luna put in happily. "I thought it was rather sweet."

Mischievously, Harry reassured, "You needn't have worried, Gin. Ron was a rubbish partner."

"Oy!" Ron protested hotly.

Daphne soothed, "I thought you were great."

Appeased, Ron offered her a bit of sausage on the end of his fork and she giggled coyly before delicately biting down on it.

_Is this the Daphne I know?_ Hermione wondered with bemusement. Her friend hardly seemed like the same girl she had once discovered purging in the dormitory bathroom, mentally suffering from the repercussions of the war. _It's ingenious, really – this part of the 'promoting house unity' bit._ Letting students mingle at mealtimes allowed everyone to become friends with anyone, simultaneously breaking down the barriers created by separate Houses that led to elitism.

She glanced at Luna, who was building a mural of sorts on her plate out of kippers and toast. The Gryffindor lion embroidered on the breast of her school robes sent Hermione into a brief tizzy of nostalgia. _I still miss Gryffindor Tower…_

"You two are disgusting," Ginny chimed in brightly, flinging a second bit of egg at Ron and Daphne this time. "Adorable, but disgusting."

"Nowhere near as bad as you and him!" Ron protested vehemently, jabbing his finger at his sister and then at Harry. Daphne had the grace to blush.

Ginny hit Ron over the head with a rolled up copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that had arrived with the morning owl post. Luna turned her large, pale eyes to Ginny and advised seriously, "You'll want to treat newsprint with respect, Ginny. Daddy always says if you treat the news badly, you'll get bad news."

"Pish," Ginny scoffed, though she did not hit Ron with the newspaper again.

The warning bell rang for morning classes and everyone hastily finished eating whatever was on their plates. The staff table was relatively empty by then. Ginny kissed Harry on the cheek and she and Luna left for Potions. Daphne then flounced off for Divination, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione alone at the end of the Hufflepuff table.

"Better go, I suppose," Harry suggested.

"Just a moment longer?" Hermione pleadingly requested. Ron cast her a quizzical look; generally, Hermione was flying out of the hall even before the warning bell. She admitted, "I miss you both. I feel like I haven't been alone with the two of you in forever."

Harry's smile slid slowly from his face as he tried to recall the last time it had just been the three of them. Ron spoke up, "I think it was when we went to visit Hagrid, but then… I suppose Hagrid was there, too…"

"There's someone _else_ I haven't seen in forever…"

"We tried to find you yesterday, Hermione," Harry told her, regarding her with the same suspicion as earlier. "Where were you?"

"Doing my Potions essay, then sleeping. I told you I didn't feel well." Then, to prevent him asking about it further, she questioned, "What did you put for the three potions that utilize infusion of wormwood?"

"Draught of Living Death, Elixir to Induce Euphoria, and Shrinking Solutions," Harry rattled off in good faith, proving he really had done the essay.

"Oh, good. You're done too, Ron?"

"Er, yeah," Ron answered unconvincingly.

Glancing down at the bracelet clasped at her wrist for confirmation, Hermione raised a challenging eyebrow at him. "Ron, why did you get me a bracelet that will let me know when you're lying… and then lie?"

Ron groaned, "Why _did_ we get her that bracelet, Harry?"

"I don't think she needed the bracelet, mate. You know how Hermione is about homework... and it was a rubbish lie."

"I forgot about the essay, honestly," Ron admitted. "Had my mind on other things…"

"Let me guess…" Hermione teased, only pretending to really ponder it. "One Daphne Greengrass? Are you going to finally get up the courage to ask her out?"

"I can't do that!"

"We have another Hogsmeade weekend in two weeks…"

"She'll say 'no.' She's way out of my league, she's only humoring me…"

"Oh please, Ron, don't be thick. She's obviously head-over-heels for you."

A very brief expression of dreaminess danced across Ron's eyes for a moment. " _Is_ she?"

Harry waved a hand in front of Ron's face and he snapped back to attention. Hermione snorted, "She's a great person… a little insecure about being pureblood and a former-Slytherin after the war and everything, but…"

Ron's mouth dropped, "She was in _Slytherin_?"

"You didn't know?" Harry queried, confused.

Ron's shocked expression told all. "But she seems so… nice?"

Harry laughed.

"She _is_ nice," Hermione affirmed. After a beat, she felt the need to add, "Except this morning when she was like a banshee waking me up..."

After glancing about, Harry began gathering his things. "We should go now, we're going to be late."

As the three slung their bookbags over their shoulders, Hermione finally had an opportunity to cast a swift glance around the Great Hall. She was disturbed to find that many of the remaining students assembled in the hall were looking at the three of them with something she could only coin as reverence. _That's disconcerting,_ she thought.

She had also noticed that though she had not seen him leave at any point since she had arrived, there was no sign of Draco Malfoy in the hall at that hour either.

_I wonder if he slept last night?_ If he hadn't, that would be at least two nights in a row he had gone without, she recalled. _He'll be in class! Merlin, this is going to be awkward…_

They were climbing up their first set of stairs, with only a few other stragglers trailing in front or behind, when Ron cut in, "How have I never noticed before?"

"Never noticed what?" Harry questioned.

"That Daphne Greengrass was a Slytherin?"

"What did you think she was?"

"A Ravenclaw."

" _Now_ she's a Ravenclaw," Hermione reminded him.

Ron reflected for a moment before asking, "How have I never noticed _her_ before?"

"Because she was Slytherin?" Harry suggested dryly, sharing a look with Hermione.

"Bloody hell, you're right…" Ron turned down the corridor on the second floor while Harry and Hermione made to go up another flight. "Aren't you coming?"

"Slytherin and Ravenclaw have Transfiguration," Hermione reminded him.

"Oh. Right." Ron looked disoriented for a moment; it really had felt like old times for a moment. "Right," he repeated. "See you, then."

"Ron, come to the library with me after Herbology," Hermione said quickly before he could turn away. "I'll help you with the essay."

He looked relieved, "You're _amazing_ , Hermione."

She smiled a secret smile, "Don't let Daphne hear you say that too loudly…"

Ron left for class hastily as he recalled he was cutting it close. Harry and Hermione were now going to be actually late. Unlike when Professor McGonagall had taught the class on the first floor, the new Professor Buchanan preferred the sixth floor classroom for Transfiguration.

"You never answered my question," Harry reminded her as they ascended another staircase. "Where were you yesterday? You weren't showing up on the Marauder's Map. The map doesn't lie."

"Oh, no?" she tried. "You can't have been looking very hard."

"Hermione," he insisted seriously, "you're one of my best friends and I've known you for seven years now – even lived in a tent with you for several months. I can tell when you're lying. Even without looking at your bracelet."

"My bracelet turned against me!" she cried, glaring at it in mock-betrayal. The stones had indeed been rendered black from her untruth.

"I'm being serious, Hermione."

"So am I," she sobered. "I'm sorry, Harry – you're right, I've been unfair. There's a lot I have to explain to you and there's not really enough time before class to do it justice. I _will_ tell you, but it will have to be later today. Trust me?"

"Of course I trust you. I also worry about you."

She sighed wearily. She felt especially creaky today, all her joints flaming with every movement. It was a serious effort to climb all the way up six flights of stairs. "There is nothing to worry about, it's just a very long story."

He frowned. "That does absolutely nothing to reassure me."

"It'll have to do, we're already late."

The final bell rang just as they reached the top of the steps for the sixth floor. Professor Buchanan had already shut the door for the start of class by the time they reached the classroom.

"Sorry," Harry apologized for the two of them and they scooted toward the only seats left, which were in the far back.

"Potter, Granger, nice of you to join us," the professor greeted with a look of amusement. "As I was saying: pop quiz."

The class groaned.

_Oh no…_ Hermione thought with dismay. Her desk was right behind Malfoy and Zabini. _Do I really have to stare at the back of his head the whole class?_

She could not concentrate for the quiz. Trying her best to ignore the immediate presence of Draco seated in front of her, the aching flare-ups in her knees also diverted her attention and continually caused her to wince. At some point, the elastic containing her ponytail snapped from pressure and her hair exploded alarmingly upon being freed. By the time their tests were collected, she felt quite frazzled and resorted to using a quiet _reparo_ on her broken hair tie.

After their test was a lecture, which was equally difficult to focus on. All period long, Harry shot her suspicious looks, while Hermione stared directly into the back of Draco's platinum head.

Well, not just his head… she also stared at the back of his neck, where his hair faded down in twin silver-blond trails… at the cast of his haughty shoulders and lean back… or his long, slender fingers… fingers that looked as if they were made specifically to play the piano… and the way they grasped his quill and moved fluidly in calligraphic letters across the parchment on his desk… where had he learned to write so elegantly?

Then, like a sack full of galleons to the face, she realized, _I have a crush on Draco Malfoy._

Harry poked her in the side and whispered, "Why aren't you taking notes?"

"I am," she hissed under her breath, recollecting herself. She glared in betrayal when her bracelet darkened again to indicate her own lie. Harry scowled. She could almost swear she heard Draco utter a low chuckle, though he did not turn around.

Forcing herself to focus for the rest of class, it was with utter relief when she finally bolted from the classroom at the end of the period to make her way to Herbology. She was not ready to face Draco yet, and her heart skipped a beat in dread when she remembered she had prefect duties with him that very evening.

Harry chased after her, books still in his arms instead of his bag in the interest of catching up to her. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I don't want to be late to Herbology," she answered unconvincingly. She was pleased to note that, since it had not entirely been entirely a lie, her bracelet had not changed colors. _I also don't think I could make eye contact with Draco at this moment and not turn completely scarlet..._

"Why are you so red?"

_Great._

Harry butt in again, "Why do I get the distinct feeling you're keeping something really important from me? Maybe Ron hasn't noticed because he's too caught up with Seamus or Greengrass, but Ginny seems constantly on the verge of revealing something vital. She always holds her tongue at the last minute, just like she did in second year when she tried to tell us about the Chamber of Secrets…"

_Poor Harry,_ Hermione sympathized. _Is this what he likens my situation to? A basilisk terrorizing the school?_ She supposed he probably was bound to have a few paranoias, given his past.

Ron joined them in the hallway on the second floor, having waited up for them. Harry continued, "…Then the Marauder's Map shows you all over the place with former Slytherins like Malfoy, Nott, and Greengrass. I feel like I barely _see_ you except in class, and just now you were so distracted you didn't even take _notes_ , Hermione. You _always_ take notes. Back me up, Ron."

"What am I meant to be backing up?"

Harry turned back to Hermione. "You _would_ tell me if you were in trouble, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, Harry," she sighed, exasperated. "Yes, alright. You can come with me and Ron to the library after class and I'll explain everything, I promise."

She successfully managed to avoid Draco throughout all of Herbology. Even Theo seemed to be leaving her alone, though he glanced at her many times, which piqued her curiosity. Draco seemed actually to be giving her a wide berth of his own, which strangely caused her to worry.

_He mustn't want to marry me, either,_ Hermione concluded, and was surprised when she felt a small tinge of unexpected regret at the thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments - they are like finding a surprise five dollars in your jeans. Score!
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	29. Restricted

To Hermione, sitting in the library with Harry and Ron after Herbology felt oddly like she was beginning a very important exam. She'd had years to study her two closest friends' reactions to bad news, but the retelling of _this_ tale was still going to be a challenge.

Harry was seated opposite her, looking expectant and somewhat on edge. He cast a _muffliato_ over their table to ensure they would not be overheard, which somehow made Hermione even more nervous. Meanwhile, Ron was digging through his bookbag for his inkwell and a quill that was not dull. Most of his had been sharpened so many times they had become almost useless, or else had broken in his disorganized school bag.

"Are you finally going to tell us why Ginny looks like she's harboring the secret that could end all of wizardkind as we know it?"

Ron snorted. "Ginny can't keep a secret."

"She can," Harry defended. "She won't tell you what it is - it's just pretty obvious when she has one she's keeping."

"It's a really long story," Hermione sighed. Her palms had become sweaty with agitation. "I hope you can both be open-minded."

_Let's also hope this explanation goes better than the Hogsmeade conference..._

"Stop stalling," Harry suggested mildly. His emerald-green eyes were locked onto hers and for the first time, Hermione noticed the same sort of penetrating omniscience that had often accompanied conversations with Albus Dumbledore. When had that happened?

"I guess every story has to start somewhere… and, I suppose this one began on the first day of classes when I got paired with Malfoy on prefect patrols."

"I _told_ you to switch partners," Ron prodded her.

She snapped, "Please don't interrupt, Ronald. This is difficult enough."

"Prefect patrols, then," Harry prompted.

"At first, everything went as expected. Malfoy and I didn't get on at _all_ , unwilling as we were to move past our respective prejudices. But slowly, we started talking to one another and seemed to come to an impasse." She paused here to chew her lip. "Then, the most curious thing happened…"

"He attacked you!" Ron inferred, looking murderous. He had finally found a working quill in his bag, and was brandishing it threateningly at the mere idea.

Hermione shook her head. "He… he kissed me."

The quill slipped from Ron's fingers and fluttered onto the tabletop, while his face morphed into a look that could only be classified as dumbstruck.

"Malfoy... _kissed_ you?" Harry repeated for clarification. "On _purpose_?"

 _Sort of._ She nodded.

"No," Ron uttered, refusing to believe her. He was now staring at her with unbridled horror etched onto his face.

To Hermione's surprise, Harry's hardened expression deflated into relief. " _Godric's balls, Hermione!_ "

"Five points from Slytherin for your language," she hissed.

Harry only shoved her arm affectionately, seeming not to care a single iota about the five points. "You have no idea how much sleep I was losing! All over what you were doing with Malfoy all the time. I was watching the map all day for _weeks_ … it was like sixth year all over again…"

"Were you stalking me?" she demanded.

"I didn't know what kind of danger you were in!" he protested. A hint of a smirk had crawled onto his mouth. ( _Is there anywhere left I can go without being smirked at?_ ) "Instead I find out that you've just been _snogging_ him."

She swatted him with the book in her hands. "Harry!"

"How can you…" Ron stammered, aghast and unable to say the words, "…with Malfoy? Of all people!"

"You sound like your sister," she commented dryly.

"But it's _Malfoy_!"

"Ron, you are not my boyfriend anymore," Hermione reminded him matter-of-factly. Ron spluttered at this for a moment. "In fact, you are almost-dating a former-Slytherin, yourself. Draco is a Ravenclaw now, just like me. He's completely over his blood prejudice. Or, so it appears, at least…"

"Neither of us wants to see you hurt, Hermione," Harry spoke up. "That's all Ron's trying to say. You do have to admit, Malfoy has a history of not exactly being the nicest person. Then there was the time he joined up with Voldemort and let Death Eaters into Hogwarts... Your choice in snogging partners is a touch, er, suspect with the information we have."

"Maybe I just like snogging him," she sneered. Harry winced.

Ron made a face, "That isn't anything I want to picture."

"There's more to the story, if you'd let me finish. Do you want me to continue or not?"

Both boys nodded, though Ron still looked testy.

"So, Draco and I are sometimes-snogging, sometimes-not." She ignored Ron's shudder. "One night on our regular patrol, we came across a moving room hidden in the castle, which turned out to be a secret chamber of Rowena Ravenclaw's."

Harry's eyes widened and he sat forward in his chair a bit, "Ravenclaw made a secret room?"

"Just like the Chamber of Secrets, yes – except this was her private study, not anything sinister. If you recall, Ravenclaw's diadem had been stolen, and then her only child died, leaving her without an heir. Draco and I think she preserved it for posterity…"

"Don't call him 'Draco' please, I'm not sure I can digest that part of the story yet," Ron requested plaintively. His schoolwork sat forgotten on the table for the moment. "A secret chamber of Ravenclaw's? No problem. But…"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but humored him nonetheless. "While we were in the study, Malfoy found Rowena's alchemy journal and took it. Later, he told me he had discovered some instructions for a mandala."

"What's a mandala?" Harry asked.

"It's a magical design of perfect symmetry... something like a pentagram, but Light magic."

" _Binding_ magic?"

"You have no idea."

Harry's expression darkened. Ron seemed vaguely confused.

She continued, "We wanted to try summoning the most basic forms of the air and water elements - the archetypes. It was advanced alchemy… something we learned the theory of in class, actually. We were both too curious to wait until the second half of the year's project to attempt anything like it, and impatient to have that curiosity sated. Preparations for the mandala took a month. We combed through each minute detail multiple times, and finally executed it last Friday night."

Hermione paused as she reflected on that evening. It seemed an age ago, but she was sure she would never forget the feeling of academic contentment juxtaposed with the knots that had formed in her stomach when her feet had lifted from the grass… the ice crystals swirling around her… the snowflakes wetting Draco's pale hair...

"And?" Harry prompted. "How did it go?"

"It went…" she paused, frowning, "well, _perfectly_ , actually. Until the unicorn."

Ron repeated, "The unicorn?"

"Yes. Remember how Hagrid and Professor Babbling caught some for their classes? We fed them sugar cubes?"

" _You_ fed them sugar cubes," Harry corrected, remembering perfectly well.

"Yes, well, one of them wandered into our mandala while we were performing the magic. It probably had been nearby anyway, looking for more. I'm sure Hagrid spoiled them… you know how he can get…" She knew she was rambling, but she had come to the second bomb in her story.

"I remember you saying something about unicorns…"

"They represent the number one in runic lore," she rattled off, picking at the buckle on the strap of her bookbag. "What that really means is, because we were summoning air and water - which are considered to be opposites, but not polar opposites - the resulting force reacted with the magical representation of the number one. It forged a connection on the easiest things to bond to… which, as it happens... was me and Malfoy."

Harry and Ron shared a significant look, their mouths both grim lines. It was Harry who eventually spoke up, "So what does that mean for you, Hermione?"

She glanced around to be sure they were still alone. There were some fourth-year Slytherins and a Hufflepuff sharing a table some way off (something that never would have occurred before the re-sorting), but none seemed at all interested in what was transpiring amongst the Golden Trio.

Hermione exhaled deeply from her nose. Looking up at her friends, she pleaded, "Promise me you won't scream or anything…?" Keeping her arm low, she rolled up the left sleeve of her uniform shirt.

Unmoving, the ugly Dark Mark was still full of utter loathing. Ron's chair scraped quickly backward and he turned a deathly white, while Harry recoiled and looked like he might exclaim, but curbed himself just in time.

Quickly rolling her sleeve back down, Hermione's eyes were frantically darting around to ensure there had been no other witnesses. _Muffliato_ was great, but it only protected against sound. "Malfoy and I now share all scars, marks and physical aches."

"Bloody hell, Hermione," Ron muttered, eyes fixed on her covered arm. Harry said nothing, but was staring at her unnervingly with that gaze of newfound penetration he had adopted.

She continued quickly, eager to get it all out, now that the end was in sight. "It also means that Malfoy has that foul scar Bellatrix gave me on his arm, too. But there's more – we spoke with McGonagall first thing the following morning, and she contacted an actively practicing alchemist from Ireland for an opinion. Yesterday, she had us meet with our parents to explain what we did, and to discuss possible ways out of it…"

"Your parents in the same room as the Malfoys!" Harry repeated, thunderstruck. "McGonagall really thought that was a good idea?"

"I suspect she just wanted to get all of it out on the table, at once…" Hermione cast him a baleful look of suffering, despite her words. "As you can imagine, that meeting didn't go very well, though only Narcissa showed up from Malfoy's side. I guess Lucius is on house arrest for his crimes during the war…"

"I wonder how many galleons he had to part with for that easy sentence?" Ron muttered darkly. It was a valid point; post-war trials were still being reported regularly in the _Daily Prophet_ and the Malfoys had been treated remarkably leniently, in comparison to others.

"…Well, the alchemist McGonagall contacted could only think of two ways out, though I suspect there must be another if we look hard enough. There's a sort-of fifth element called quintessence that is used to make the Elixir of Life..."

Harry's eyes went wide; his hands, which had been occupied by obsessively curling the corner of a bit of Ron's parchment, stopped. "You have to make a philosopher's stone?"

"No, just perform a mandala with the archetype of quintessence," she corrected. Seeing their nonplussed expressions, she translated, "We need to replicate the same magic, but with quintessence inside it. That's the fifth element and - yes, _halfway_ to recreating the philosopher's stone." Worried, she nibbled her bottom lip, "But the sheer amount of _theory_ behind it… something of that magnitude would be…"

"You're the brightest witch of your age," Ron reminded her, somewhat cheekily. "You can do pretty much anything."

Hermione shook her head, frustrated. "No, you don't understand. A project of that scope could take _decades_ and still be unsuccessful. Something so complex doesn't just require excess knowledge, or the correct ingredients. It takes _time_... _years_ of dedication to a very exact chemistry..."

The boys shared another meaningful glance that was so quick, Hermione almost missed it; she was not sure she liked it. Harry urged, "You said there was a second option."

"Yes." She paused, internally steeling herself for the possible impending fallout. Choosing her words carefully, she explained, "There's a year-long, magical commitment that ends in a powerful unbinding spell to undo all enchantments. It could take away the effects of Polyjuice, the Imperius, and many other binding spells that affect either or both of the individuals involved - including blessings... and most probably, the effects of this mandala disaster."

"Sounds like a better option," Ron noticed suspiciously.

Hermione sucked in a breath, her eyes flickering briefly back and forth between her friends, and with the exhale, she clarified, "Malfoy and I would have to obtain a divorce."

"No," Harry said automatically.

Ron exclaimed, "You _can't_ , Hermione!"

"And why _not_ , Ronald?"

He fixed her with a look of earnest familiarity, which Hermione had not been on the receiving end of, in some time. Those blue eyes had once held the power to make her melt into a puddle of her former self, and it was almost out of habit that her knees felt weakened by their clarity now. She and Ron had not exactly been a terrible couple for the first few days of their crashing together - but it had become inexplicably awkward for weeks after that, until they had mutually agreed to part. Truly, it had felt more like scratching an itch than a real relationship.

"I'm… I'm going to kill Malfoy," Ron vowed.

"He isn't the same person he was before the war," Hermione insisted, feeling herself growing pink in the face. "He's… in some ways, he's better…"

"Oh, I forgot you _fancy_ him now…" he sneered, eyes darkening. "Have you forgotten all the… _everything_!"

"I'll admit, there's been a bad history between…"

"Or," he interrupted, "when he and his cronies tried to _kill us_ in the Room of Requirement only months ago… after you were tortured in his bloody house! Someone doesn't just _change_ that drastically in only a few months, Hermione."

" _You_ wouldn't have considered dating a Slytherin only a few months ago!" she countered hotly. "Now look at you. Of course people change."

"That's different! She wasn't… Daphne never…!"

"It's a fair point, mate," Harry put in quietly. Ron glared in betrayal.

While the conversation was not exactly going well, Hermione was secretly thankful that it was at least going as expected. Harry was accepting but concerned, while Ron was behaving as she might have guessed. She had known this would be a risk when she decided to confide in them both.

"You need to understand something about Draco. He's got this shell that's full of cracks, which get bigger the more time passes. That's where the light is coming into him."

Ron made to mime the action of vomiting, but Harry shot him a look to stop him.

"Besides, he's nowhere near as bad as his horrible mother. Narcissa insulted my blood status in front of my parents while flat-out insisting we procure the divorce as quickly as possible."

"I can't believe you testified for her, Harry!" Ron cried in disbelief.

"She lied to save me. I wasn't going to be bothered with her life's philosophies," Harry shrugged, then turned to his other friend, "what can we do to help you, Hermione?"

Resolutely, she stated, "I've got to do research to try to find a third option."

Ron visibly relaxed, "So you _are_ trying to find a different way? You don't want to marry Malfoy?"

"No!" she cried. _What if I'm stuck with him forever? A crush is a very different thing from marriage..._ "I was planning to take out some books while you do your essay."

"Bugger the essay!"

"No, Ron, you have to do it. Afterwards, you can help if you want."

"C'mon, Hermione," he protested, "the Auror office is only waiting for the three of us to get our completion certificates – they said so themselves!"

"And your knowledge of potions is _essential_ to doing that job properly!" she insisted. "What if you need to know this information someday?"

Harry pulled his own completed essay from his bag and slid it across the table toward Ron. "That'll help."

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but Harry silenced her with, "Where do you want to start? I don't know anything about alchemy, so you'll have to direct me."

The library was vast, but Hermione figured it was best to begin with the basics about what they knew for sure. _Work from the bottom up,_ soon became her mantra. So, Ron began scratching away at his last-minute essay while she and Harry began searching for information.

After a lengthy first search, she came across a tome that spoke briefly on the subject of quintessence.

"Quintessence is necessary for creating the Elixir of Life," she took in silently, her finger underlining the text on the page as she read. "It is known all around the world by many different names.

"In Chinese alchemy, the fifth element is wood, which is a product of the plant kingdom and things that grow. In Taoist alchemy, quintessence is known as _chi_ – an unseen energy that flows through the body and can be directed through meditations. In Tantric alchemy, it is the kundalini sexual energy, coiled like a sleeping serpent at the base of the spine. In Hindu alchemy, it is the spirit of breath known in Sanskrit as _prana_. These all are very similar to the western concepts of _pneuma_ (coined by the Greeks) and _rauch_ , a Hebrew concept. In all these traditions, variations of quintessence are universally known as the life force itself.

"The fifth element is not a product of the other four, but a separate principle altogether, through which they can be tamed or controlled. Many alchemists believed it emerged from the Three Essentials, and that the Four Elements were built up from it."

 _I need to talk to another alchemist… ideally several_ , she concluded, shutting the book with a snap and tucking it under her arm to take with her. _McGonagall only contacted a single alchemist, from Ireland. In this instance, it won't pay to be too narrow with our options. We need to look further than just Europe for answers._

She spent another hour looking at different books and choosing two others. Feeling this was plenty for the moment, she brought everything to the front of the library to check them out.

"Madam Pince?" she queried, as the librarian rifled through her chosen texts. "I was wondering if the library has a directory of practicing alchemists?"

Fixing her with a characteristic look of suspicion, the witch answered, "Hogwarts has no reason to keep such a directory on hand, Miss Granger."

"Do you know how I would go about getting in contact with some of those that are currently practicing?" Despite her unfriendly demeanor, Madam Pince could generally be convinced to help if she pressed hard enough.

"What do you need to do that for?"

"Extra research," she replied easily, tapping the cover of the topmost book of her stack. "It's for our practical application. I just wanted to get ahead."

Still eyeing her dubiously, the librarian answered, "You'll need a note from one of the teachers. There are some alchemy publications in the restricted section."

Taken aback, she queried, "Why are they restricted?"

"The late Headmaster Dippet put them there when they took the class off the curriculum."

Hermione supposed that made sense, but it was hard to have information denied when it would be such a help. "Thank you. I'll get a note and come back."

Having checked out her books, she headed back to the table where Ron was still scratching away at his essay. He seemed to be pressing his quill rather hard into the page as she approached, but said nothing. Taking a seat beside him, she peered over his work, noting that there were several inkblots littering the margins and spaces between letters.

"The sprig of peppermint is added _before_ the Sopophorous beans, not after," she corrected, "in order to counteract the effects of the porcupine quills."

"Where did I put that?" he demanded, scrutinizing the parchment in front of him. It seemed he had needed a few minutes of peace and quiet to settle down, and now that he had been distracted by something other than Hermione's quandary, Ron's hot temper had mostly gone.

She leaned over him to point out the exact sentence. "Right here."

At that moment, Oliver Rivers emerged from the end of the row of shelves nearby their table, pausing to remove a book from his bag. He only caught sight of them when he had finished and looked up. He started ever so slightly at the sudden sight of her, but seemed to recover quickly.

"Hermione," Ron sighed, making the correction on his essay. "What would I do without you?"

Remembering her most recent conversation with Oliver at the Halloween Dance, Hermione could not help but color at her friend's poorly timed words. Oliver visibly collected himself and nodded in passive acknowledgment, raising his eyebrows slightly as he went on his way.

Ron glanced over, noticing the Ravenclaw's retreating form. With a significant look at Hermione, he began, "Er, I heard you two broke up."

"We were never together," she clarified. "He was my date for the dance, that was all."

"Right," Ron nodded. "Just like you were with Krum?" She smacked his arm, "Kidding! So how did you break things off with Rivers, anyway?"

"Honestly? I let him believe I still had feelings for you."

He paused and stared at her incredulously, mouth slightly open. "You... You don't, do you?"

"No," she insisted firmly. "It was just easier to let him believe that I did."

Ron looked instantly relieved. "Thank Merlin. I mean, no offense, Hermione… it's just… we tried… and it just wasn't… and Daphne…"

Hermione let out a short laugh and reassured him, "Don't worry, Ron. You and I are friends, and I prefer it that way too."

Harry returned to their table with a book entitled _Creatures of the Light_. "There's a chapter about unicorn ingredients in potions… the tail hairs and the powdered horn and such. I didn't find much else. I can come back with you after classes this evening if you want."

She shook her head, "I have prefect patrols with Malfoy."

"They're still making you patrol with that ferret?" Ron demanded hotly, his temper rekindling.

"I asked them not to switch me."

"I can still come tonight," Harry decided, ignoring Ron's outburst. "I think I sort of know what to look for. Ron?"

"Can't, mate. Quidditch practice. I can come tomorrow though, I have a free period second thing in the morning."

Touched, Hermione spoke up, "Thank you both. I really appreciate your help and support. I'm going to speak to McGonagall the first chance I get, about getting access to the restricted section."

"That's ballsy," Ron appraised honestly, looking impressed.

.

.

Hermione got her first chance to speak to Professor McGonagall almost immediately. When they entered the Great Hall, the headmistress was in her customary place at the head of the staff table, engaged in conversation with Professor Flitwick. Later, when Minerva stood from her luncheon and strode into the hall outside for afternoon classes, Hermione followed her out.

"Excuse me, Professor…"

"Miss Granger," the headmistress greeted. She glanced around to be sure there were no others within hearing, "I hope you've recovered from yesterday's debacle."

"I suppose."

Sensing her student's purpose, she prompted, "What can I do to help you?"

"I was wondering if you would give me a pass to explore the restricted section?" Hermione requested. "There are some alchemy journals there which I would like to look through, but Madam Pince told me that Headmaster Dippet put them there when Alchemy was pulled from the class roster."

"Very well," McGonagall agreed. "You have Charms this afternoon, I believe? I shall create a pass for you and have it ready to pick up in my office after then."

"Thank you, professor."

The two women parted ways and Hermione returned to the Great Hall to retrieve her bag. Gazing around the vast room, she noted the complete absence of Draco for the second meal that day.

 _Did he find time to eat?_ she worried. Then a new thought hit her: maybe Draco was avoiding her on purpose? Determined, she avowed, _He can't avoid me forever..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where could Draco be? Is he avoiding Hermione? Hmm... questions, questions.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented or left kudos. Getting comments are like the feeling of contentment you get when you flip your pillow over to the cold side. I love you guys.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	30. Faceless

_The cemetery was filled with white candles. Some rested in the grass by headstones, while others in glass votives floated over graves, a few feet in the air. Perplexed at how he had got there, Draco glanced around, hoping for clues. It looked exactly the way it had on the day they had buried his grandmother, with only one difference: on that day, there had been mourners… lots of them._

_Life was a thing to be celebrated - while death, as the conclusion of life, was honored. It was how things were done, by all of the purebloods in the Malfoys' acquaintance. Draco's late grandmother Malfoy had been a fine woman, adored by many. Therefore, many had attended her funeral._

_Here, however, there was only a small cluster of mourners, all huddled together over a set of two open graves. Curiosity winning out, Draco stepped closer to the small gathering of black silhouettes, ignoring the haughty gazes on their unrecognizable faces. His eyes flickered down to the headstones._

_The first was his father's and the second, his mother's._

_Horrified, he watched as fresh earth was magically shifted into the gaping holes in the ground, obscuring the dual coffins from view. Perhaps it was wrong of him, but he was unsure if he was sad they were gone - or relieved._

_"The traditions must be upheld, Draco," a voice whispered in his ear. It was impossible to tell which one of the nearby figures had issued this reminder._

_"We can't allow purebloods to die out," spoke another. "What would become of wizardkind if there was no purity left in it?"_

_With conviction, a third said, "It would go extinct."_

_The voices of faceless others began to shrink in on him, a confusion of dark shapes, swishing cloaks, and shuffling boots. Draco found himself suddenly surrounded._

_"It is up to you to carry on our traditions, Draco."_

_"We'll be watching to be sure you do it, Malfoy…!"_

With a gasp and a shudder, Draco sat up in bed. He could hear Macmillan snoring like a bulldog two beds over; Blaise was emitting the occasional sleepy grunt. Rivers, meanwhile, was completely silent - but then, he always was.

Heart hammering at an elevated cadence, Draco did his best to calm himself by stabilizing his breathing. He peeled apart the curtains of his four-poster and glanced to the clock on his bedside table. It read 3:09.

_Just over five hours,_ he mentally logged with a soft sigh of relief. It was the most sleep he had got in a single go for the last four days. Anxiety had plagued him since sixth year, while insomnia had set in the year after that. Both had been further exacerbated by the mandala incident with Granger.

Like the igniting of a stuttering flame in a gas lamp, Draco came awake. The nightmare had ruined any hope for more sleep that morning, but he had come to expect occurrences of that nature. He would have to be content with five hours.

Flexing his stiffened fingers to get them working properly once more, he began to itch for a cigarette. Given that it was still too early for breakfast, he ran a comb through his hair and threw on his clothes. Creeping downstairs, he stole onto the fifth floor balcony at the base of Ravenclaw Tower.

That first cigarette, after the nightmare he just had, came ironically like a breath of clean air.

The crisp November morning nipped at his cheeks and made him yearn for a pass or two around the Quidditch Pitch. He had brought his broom to school, hoping to earn back his place as Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team for his final year. But, when he had unexpectedly been re-sorted into Ravenclaw, he had not bothered trying out for the team. Draco was well aware what most non-Slytherins thought of his family…

_What is your deepest need?_ It was the question the Sorting Hat had whispered into his ear, back on September first.

As though he spoke of this sort of highly personal thing every day, Draco's brain had automatically answered, _Freedom._

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat had shouted, to Draco's – and everyone else's – endless surprise.

As far as Draco's parents knew, there had never been any re-sorting at all. _He_ certainly had not told them, at any rate. If they discovered it from the _Daily Prophet_ or some other source, however - well, that was none of his business.

On the other hand, Malfoys had always been placed in Slytherin. For centuries. There was a bloody _serpent_ on the family crest. Yet he, Draco Malfoy, heir to a prominent line of pureblood aristocracy, had undone that with a single thought. It was as though his subconscious had decided his future without consulting him. Later, he reflected that his unhesitating answer to the hat's simple question had been as good as a request not to be sent back to the snakes.

But there was another problem with trading the snake for the eagle: Hermione Granger was also a Ravenclaw. As it happened, Draco had already undone a _second_ sacred Malfoy pledge... never become intimately involved with Mudbloods.

_Muggle-borns,_ he begrudgingly corrected himself.

It was a hard habit to kick, using the slang. But after Hermione's reaction to the slur on that day Theo had let it slip out… well, Draco was going to do his very best to eradicate it from his vocabulary.

The truth was, he still was unsure how he felt about Granger. She was fantastically sexy when she wanted to be, but half the time he kissed her, it was to shut her up. The reality of what had occurred between them from Friday through Sunday seemed disjointed and surreal, like they had happened to someone else other than him. And for someone who apparently valued personal freedom at his core, being magically bound to her was off-putting, to say the least.

Draco recalled the moment Nott first told him what he had Seen. More shocking than his prediction for Draco's future, was the reveal that Theo had been the seventh son of a seventh son in a line riddled with Seer blood. Most of his illegitimate older brothers had been well-hidden by Nott Sr.

_"I've had a my coming of age and it was Significant." Theo's face was serious when he spoke. He had not been laughing much since the Battle of Hogwarts, when the death of his father had left him orphaned. "Significant in the Seer sense. I've transcended."_

_Draco expelled a gust of smoke into the late summer air. He and Nott were hiding their cigarette break from Narcissa, having strategically stowed themselves away behind a series of hedges in the gardens at Malfoy Manor. He contemplated his friend a moment before answering only, "Really?"_

_"Don't know how accurate I am yet," the other wizard admitted. They had put a dissipation charm on the smoke so that it disappeared if it drifted above the dense rose bushes they were walled behind. "Time will tell."_

_Draco prompted, "The future?"_

_"The past, too. But yes."_

_"See anything good?"_

_"You're married to Granger."_

_"As in, Hermione Granger?" The cigarette paused midway to his lips as Draco considered this for a few seconds. He snorted; Theo must be trying to get a rise out of him. Feigning indifference, he answered, "Makes sense."_

It really didn't, though.

The night Granger had been tortured by his mad aunt at the Manor had been yet another horrible day in a long series of horrible days, which had stretched into horrible weeks. Not standout in terms of how dreadful the torture was (Draco, himself, had been subjected to far more of the Cruciatus than he liked to recall), it was awful for the fact that it was _her_.

She _needed_ to survive. She needed to save them all. Potter was simply _not clever enough_ to come up with a way of destroying the Dark Lord on his own. Granger was the brain that was supposed to deliver England into victory over Voldemort.

In the end, Potter had saved the day, after all - but it had not stopped Draco from sweating over it. The question then remained: why would someone like Hermione Granger marry someone like Draco Malfoy? There was also the matter of _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_. He was forbidden from being with someone like her.

_Draco let the cigarette smoke exhale from his nostrils. "Care to elaborate?"_

_Theo shrugged, plucking a thorn from where it had stuck into his trousers. "The details are a bit hazy, but Narcissa both disapproves of your match, and wants it to occur."_

_"That doesn't really make much sense."_

_"I can't get my head to wrap around it, either. What I can See, is that future Granger loves future you."_

_Draco coughed awkwardly. That statement made even less sense than the one about his mother._

_Thoughtfully, Theo added, "I'll have to get to know her when we get back to Hogwarts."_

_"She isn't going to want anything to do with either of us," he insisted, stomping out the remains of his cigarette and wishing for an end to the conversation. "What else have you Seen?"_

It was a different day, a different cigarette, but Draco continued to mull over that conversation with changing emotions. He had not expected to be thrown together with Hermione any more than he had expected to begin caring about her well-being.

An image of Granger, curls erupting from her low bun, laughing with Rivers while the duo sorted Sopophorous beans in Herbology flashed into his mind. It was followed by a spike of jealousy, which he quickly buried. He took a second cigarette.

At five, when the Great Hall opened for breakfast, Draco was the first student inside. Professor Babbling and Madam Pomfrey were the only two others waiting, so he took a seat at the Ravenclaw table alone. Presently, a Gryffindor fifth-year and a Ravenclaw seventh-year filtered in.

Draco picked a muffin from a heaping tray and pondered a bit over a selection of preserves before recalling one morning Granger had chosen a seat directly in his line of vision. She had selected a greengage jam and generously slathered green-gold preserves over the upturned face of her own muffin. Then, in a motion his mother would once have punished Draco for exhibiting, she had contentedly popped the used, jelly-covered spoon into her mouth to clean it.

Conjuring the feel of her tongue pressing against his, it was no great leap of the imagination to envision what kissing her would taste like after she had indulged in the finicky sweetness of greengage jam.

_What is this witch doing to me?_ he worried, shaking himself back to the present. The other Ravenclaw boy at the table seemed to have fallen asleep in his porridge.

To his surprise (and relief, as it provided a distraction), an owl landed on the table before him. It was much too early for the usual arrival of post, but Draco accepted the letter, which was addressed to him in his mother's shorthand. He broke the seal and unfolded the thick parchment. The letter was short and blunt:

_My dear Son,_   
_You have only one option. You must set a date with Miss Granger so we can put this entire mess behind us all._   
_Yours &tc., Your Mother_

Angry without even knowing exactly why, Draco crumpled the letter and stuffed it deeply into his pocket. He meant what he had said to Hermione yesterday: this was too big a decision to be made in the moment. Granted, the moment had passed, but he could not imagine trying to decide something of that magnitude now, either.

He finished his breakfast and was soon making ready to leave, resolving to spend the morning in the Stacks, as it was too early for the library. He could begin searching for a third option out, just as Granger had suggested. Though Draco was not feeling very optimistic, he supposed it was worth trying...

.

.

Blaise collected him two hours later for a cigarette. Per the usual routine, they met Theo on the fifth-floor balcony and bullshitted for twenty minutes before classes started for the day.

Draco and Blaise were early to Transfiguration; he was slightly jumpy with anxiety, thinking about the imminent arrival of Hermione, but the minutes ticked by and she did not show. The bell rang. Professor Buchanan took note of her absence.

"Mr. Potter and Miss Granger seem to have better things to do than Transfiguration on a Monday morning, it seems," the professor quipped as he shut the door for the start of class.

The door flew open seconds later, and Potter hurriedly apologized, "Sorry."

"Potter, Granger, nice of you to join us. As I was saying: pop quiz."

The class groaned, but Draco was concerned with something else entirely. _She_ was taking her seat at the free desk directly behind him.

_Leave her be,_ his internal voice advised. _We both need some space._

He had to work extra hard to pay attention to Buchanan's lecture, though.

.

.

Theo was waiting for Draco and Blaise on the second-floor landing, and the three boys set off on their way to Herbology. The moment Zabini was waylaid by his current paramour on the trek down, Theo turned to Draco and said, "You look terrible. You sleep at all?"

"I'll never understand the mindset of a person when they tell someone they look terrible," Draco grumbled irritably.

"Easy, Malfoy, I know what happened. Zabini's occupied with Tessa Selwyn at the moment... you want to talk about it?"

"Can't a bloke get any privacy?"

"I wanted to know where you were yesterday," Theo defended himself. "So I looked."

Draco snapped, "Well since you know all about it already, you can do me a favor and leave Hermione alone. She isn't going to want your ugly mug in her face after something like this."

Theo said nothing, allowing Draco's foul mood to cool down in silence as they battled their way to the greenhouses. A fierce wind had kicked up on their short trek across the grounds. Though Draco later felt bad for snapping at Nott, he decided to let it blow over rather than apologize.

.

.

"You go on ahead, I'm going to take a walk. I don't have a class next block."

"See you," Nott answered automatically, breaking away to join Zabini for the trek back to the castle.

Draco's walk ended up being very short; it was too cold and windy for a ramble. Presently, he headed back into the warmth of Hogwarts, absentmindedly wending his way back up toward Ravenclaw Tower. He simply could not stop thinking about the mandala - of the realness of the magic, and its beauty; he had never experienced anything like it before.

_Really, it's a shame it went awry like that._ Not to mention how much of a labor the essence of Salt had been to concoct. He'd had to go down to the dungeons twice daily for almost four weeks to get it just right. Mind mulling through the minute details of the experiment, Draco did not immediately notice when he started to wander. It seemed he was taking the long way… somewhere. Anywhere but back to the common room, actually.

_You'll have to see her during patrol tonight,_ he reminded himself. _Best just head back up to the tower and risk running in to her._

He ran his fingers along the rough stone of the castle walls as he meandered. Stopping in front of a tapestry that depicted several knights chasing a unicorn, which was taking shelter in a nearby forest, it was not until Draco found himself invested in the craftsmanship of the hanging that he realized he had no idea where he was. In fact, neither the suits of armor or the nearby statue looked familiar, either.

He inspected a stone statue of a warlock holding fire in his outstretched hands, looking for a clue. It was unusual for him to become lost at Hogwarts. Brow furrowing, he thought, _I suppose I could re-trace my steps…_

But when he turned the corner he had just taken, the previous corridor had vanished. Instead, an unmarked door with a familiar filigree trim stood before him.

He sucked in a breath. "It can't be…"

Draco rushed forward to inspect the gold inlay of the door-frame carved with shining depictions of eagles in flight. Somehow, without meaning to, he had found his way back to Ravenclaw's secret room.

Glancing backward to be sure no one else was present, he found the corridor deserted, as expected. Did he dare go inside alone?

The Slytherin inside him declared, _Unwise!_

The Ravenclaw protested, _Answers might be found inside..._

He took the handle and pulled the door open, stepping boldly into the ruined hall beyond. As before, it was strewn with crumbling stone and crawling with ivy. Just as he remembered, there was an oppressive magical aura that bespoke a latent power and energy. He made his way down the short passage and came to the second door, bravery waning with every step.

At the second door, he paused a moment to recollect his courage from moments before. The door was unmarked, just like the first.

_You've come this far..._

" _Alohomora_ ," he muttered at the locked handle, recalling that Hermione had done the same at his last visit to this place. The door swung inward.

His footfalls were quiet as snow on the plush carpet; the last time stepped onto this midnight blue rug, he had been full of mistrust. His wand was again at the ready, but this time, he could feel his hands shaking with anticipation.

_If the Chamber of Secrets could only be unlocked by Slytherin's true heir, how is it I can come by this room?_ he wondered. He recalled what Granger had said about Rowena Ravenclaw's only heir dying, and her famous diadem being lost. _Does this room exist as a way for the founder of Ravenclaw House to live on?_

He gazed around the room, searching for a sign. It was just as desultory and cluttered as the first time he had visited. Books were the main residents, stuffed into every available space along the shelves on the wall, or in stacks that rose from the floor. Potted plants seemed to vary in rarity and were scattered almost absentmindedly around the room wherever they fit. The potions cupboard was overflowing with ingredients, while artifacts were strewn haphazardly throughout the circular office.

For the first time, Draco took in the details of the spectacularly sized, latticed window that allowed for most of the light in the study. Each pane was tiny, and many featured swirled, handmade glass. In front of the window was a gigantic, carved perch. _Merlin, whatever lands on that thing might be a small pterodactyl..._

He was glad whatever-it-was, was not there. Owls were one thing, but the size of this perch was far too large even for Draco's own eagle owl with her five-foot wingspan…

"I need answers," he told the room.

Nothing happened.

He had not really expected anything.

The problem was, there were just _so many_ books in this place. How could he possibly know where to start? With a sigh, he headed to the bookcase near the entrance - the same one he had taken Ravenclaw's original alchemy journal from. He made himself comfortable, taking out his reading glasses from his pocket and setting them onto the bridge of his nose, thus beginning the fascinating, if arduous, task of flipping through whatever volumes looked promising.

_You want your freedom, but there might not be any other attainable way out than divorce,_ his inner voice reminded him sternly. He discarded yet another book from the shelf. _Really, it might not be so bad being married to Granger…_

But he selected another book to peruse, anyway. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was really about time we checked in with Draco again, don't you think? I hope you guys liked this chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who left comments on the previous.
> 
> I did not use a beta for this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	31. New Developments

Hermione sat on the midnight blue couch closest to the common room exit. Only a few hours ago, she had confidently strode into the library to hand Madam Pince the note from Professor McGonagall. Under the mistrusting, watchful eyes of the librarian, she had checked out every book on alchemy she could find in the restricted section. Now, she was compiling a list of practicing alchemists from around the world based on their published works. Given that she had already recorded five new names, she had begun to feel more confident on her present course of action, and had continuing toiling away until it was time for patrols.

The closer it came for prefects' rounds to begin, however, the more her upbeat mood had ebbed away. She would be seeing Draco… and she was sure it was going to be awkward.

Crookshanks had followed her from her dormitory over an hour ago. By this time, he had made himself comfortable on her lap. Stroking the cat's ginger fur absentmindedly, Hermione's eyes flickered to the entrance every time the door opened, but it always turned out to be a person that was not Malfoy. More frequently, her gaze darted toward the staircase for the boys' dormitories, but there was nothing terribly exciting occurring there either.

"Hermione? Isn't it your night to patrol?"

Looking up, she met Ernie Macmillan's enquiring eye. "Yes. I'm just waiting for Malfoy."

Ernie frowned and checked his wristwatch. "Is he commonly late?"

She shook her head. Crookshanks headbutted her hand affectionately.

"If he hasn't shown up in the next five minutes, I'll take patrol with you." With an unimpressed look for the absent prefect, the Head Boy turned and muttered, "Though _why_ he was made a prefect in the first place, is beyond me…"

Over the course of the day, Hermione had been afforded many opportunities for thinking up scenario after scenario about what she would say to Draco when she got the chance to speak to him again that evening, and vice versa. One of these had been a pleasant daydream, which had led to them to snogging in the caves, while in another, he had beseeched her to keep it all a secret forever. In a similar confrontation, he had vowed never to speak to her again, while yet another had actually concluded with a duel.

In all the scenarios she had prepared for, Draco had at least shown up.

The five minutes passed and Ernie approached her a second time. "Shall we?"

She nodded. Dislodging her cat from her lap, she stood to follow the Head Boy from the common room. Bottlebrush tail held high, Crookshanks faithfully made to follow them. Though she tried to put on a brave face, Hermione could not help but privately castigate herself, _Draco Malfoy doesn't want anything to do with you, and he certainly doesn't return your feelings… your pathetic little crush. He didn't even show up to take patrols with you..._

Ernie interrupted her silent self-depreciation with, "Sorry, would you mind leaving your cat behind? I'm allergic."

.

.

It was just before five in the morning when Hermione awoke on Tuesday. Brain fuzzy at first, she merely blinked a few times, unsure what had roused her. The bedchamber was quiet, but for the soft breathing of some of her dorm-mates. Crookshanks was sprawled at the foot of her bed in total slumber.

She tried to roll over and fall asleep again, when she became aware of a stickiness between her legs and noticed blood on the sheets. Cursing softly, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and took her wand from her nightstand to quietly _scourgify_ her linens. Then, making her way somewhat bowleggedly toward the adjacent bathroom, she set to work cleaning herself up. A tightness in her abdomen and an occasional dull spike of pain seemed only to add insult to injury. Fully awake now, she figured she had time for a leisurely bath, and decided to head over to the prefects' bathroom.

The common room was deserted. Hermione's slippers padded softly on the blue carpet as she made her way to the exit. Just as she reached for the handle, the door opened outward on its own.

Draco stood on the other side.

He looked as if he had experienced another sleepless night; his eyes were bloodshot and his pallor, somewhat gray. They stood awkwardly apart, simply staring at the sudden appearance of the other.

Finally, he spoke, "You should probably go to the Hospital Wing, Granger. I think your appendix is about to explode."

Hermione only looked at him incredulously.

Shuffling his feet in a graceless manner, he pressed, "I can escort you, if you like."

"You missed patrol."

He had the good grace to look somewhat guilty. "I know - but I had a good reason. I came across Ravenclaw's study."

Hermione's eyes widened, "Did you find anything?"

Nodding, Draco held up a small journal; her eyes feasted on the sight of it, hungry to know what answers the little book held. "Well?" she queried hoarsely, "Is there another option?"

With a deep frown, he fixed her with a hard look. "Before we get into that, don't you think you should go to the Hospital Wing?"

"I'm fine," she insisted impatiently.

"I'm _sure_ it's your appendix," he protested. "I can feel a pain right along my waistline, and I don't think it's me..."

"Trust me, it's fine."

"I don't think…"

"I've started my period," she interrupted, her face heating. "It's completely normal for there to be some pain, though why _you're_ experiencing any when you don't even have the correct organs, is beyond me."

Draco's cheeks tinged pink. "Oh."

Desperate to change the subject, she gestured to her bathrobe tucked under her arm, "I was going to go for a bath. I'm especially sore after last night's patrol, and inflamed everywhere. Will you walk me? You can tell me what you discovered on the way."

Truthfully, her patrol – and even walking to class – was taking more out of Hermione's body than any past recreation had. It made her appreciate her bones in a new way, as if she had never given them their due credit before.

"I was going to go for a smoke, actually," he admitted. "But I can walk you first."

"You certainly are _not_ going for a smoke!"

Taken aback, he seemed to struggle for a reply. "I haven't smoked since yesterday afternoon, Granger. I _need_ a cigarette."

" _Absolutely not._ If you can feel my cycle cramps, I shudder to think what you're doing to my lungs by smoking your cigarettes."

"Granger," he said slowly, sounding strained, "it's been something I've done for the past two years, now. I can't just… _stop_."

"Oh, yes, you can," she challenged, eyes narrowing as she searched his face. "It's bad enough we have to share everything else, but I am _not_ getting lung cancer because of you."

Opening his mouth to protest, Draco promptly shut it again; the truth of her words seemed to pass across his face.

"Let me get my bath things," he finally conceded, somewhat irritably. Pushing past her and into the empty common room, he paused a moment at the base of the boys' dormitory staircase. "Oh, and Granger? Don't get too excited about what I found..."

Hermione's face fell as he disappeared from sight. _What could he mean? Perhaps there's no other way out? Or something worse than either of our two existing options?_

She did not have long to wait for an answer; Draco returned swiftly with his things, but without the small book he had with him before. As they started down the long staircase of Ravenclaw Tower, he explained, "I found an alchemical journal that once belonged to Salazar Slytherin in the study."

Hermione gasped, pausing on the stair for a split-second before continuing on. "That's incredible! May I look at it after?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I came upon the room yesterday after Herbology. I've been there ever since and haven't had any sleep, but I was afraid I wouldn't find the place again if I left. I found the journal about three hours ago. In it, Slytherin does speak of a potential third option for us… but I don't want you to get your hopes up. It involves Dark magic."

Her face fell, "What is it?"

"Adder's Fork."

Frowning, she recognized, "That's a potion ingredient."

"Generally, yes. But in this case, it would be placed, whole, in the center of an exact replica of our original mandala," he explained. "It's extremely rare."

She nodded, remembering, "Yes, because it can only be specifically acquired from the Death Adder, not just any old snake - and those are native only to Australia and New Guinea. If I'm not mistaken, the tongue has to be harvested while the snake is alive, and contains a deadly poison."

Draco smirked, teasing, "Swot."

"They're not just _rare,_ they're also extremely pricey," she continued, pointedly ignoring his comment.

He waved that thought away. "Money is no object."

With a dry sniff, she supposed she ought to have expected that from a Malfoy. "But how does it work relative to our situation?"

"According to Slytherin, the tongue splits from a whole into two forks, or halves. If we used the essence of Salt again, it should split our bodies back into two. Precisely what we're trying to do, as it happens."

They reached the bottom of the staircase and spilled out onto the fifth floor landing to head toward the baths. Hermione chewed her lip as she queried, "Is Adder's Fork _always_ considered a Dark ingredient? Sometimes Dark things can be used for Light… Professor Slughorn certainly wouldn't have any? Or, maybe, you know… with your family being…?" She trailed off.

With a hollow laugh and a glacial expression, Draco reminded her, "My family is being closely monitored by the Ministry. Despite the war being ended, there is still social unrest; uncaptured Death Eaters continue to act out on occasion. Even if I _were_ inclined to dabble in something used only for nefarious purposes - and I assure you, I'm _not_ \- I have reason to believe my mail is being monitored."

"Professor McGonagall offered to help us in any way she could," Hermione pointed out somewhat desperately.

"This isn't the sort of thing we will be mentioning to McGonagall," he told her flatly, "I doubt there's a shop even in Knockturn Alley that has it, though I could be mistaken."

She pondered his words as they walked. What made something Dark, exactly? It was easy enough to determine with spells, but when it came to ingredients the criteria was slightly hazier. Like the first steam rising from a simmering cauldron, something Professor Snape had said back in sixth year came rising up from the liminal surface of her mind: _Dark ingredients, like spells, leave traces upon the user's magic._

It was bad enough having Bellatrix's hatred carved into one arm and the Dark Mark branded on the other. Having managed to survive the war without using Dark magic, did she really want to taint her core magic with darkness now?

Her heart knew the answer...

"My mother wants us to marry," Draco interrupted her rumination. "She wrote me again this morning to try speeding along the process."

Hermione's eyes flickered to his face, but she did not comment. They had reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered that guarded the prefects' bathroom.

"I'm going to ask you to consider all angles of that option," he requested quietly. "It would be the project of our lives to create quintessence, as I'm sure you know... and even then, we may not succeed."

Softly, she confirmed, "I know it."

"It may be difficult to procure any Adder's Fork," he pressed on." There is also the possibility that it will disfigure our respective magical energies in some way. In addition to that, I've had enough of the Dark Arts to last me a lifetime, and have no wish to dabble in them any further."

She nodded slowly. His logic was easy to follow, but she could not help feeling tense over what his next words might be.

"Divorce seems the easiest, safest path," he concluded, "and even if it doesn't work at unbinding us, we still have the other two options."

Hermione was not immediately sure what to respond to that. It seemed to her, that he was missing the main point of why divorce was such an undesirable option. "But… we'd be married."

His slate gray eyes locked onto hers, "Only for a year and a day. That doesn't seem so bad."

She fell silent once more, fingers nervously playing with the seam of her bathrobe where it was tucked under one arm. Unless she was mistaken, there was a bit more at stake that simply marrying, waiting a year and a day, and then divorcing. Acquiring a wizarding marriage meant accepting a magical blessing, as well as a binding. When undone by severing that bond, a magical marriage could not be obtained again, between the same two people…

What if that small crush she was nurturing, grew into something more?

"I still need more time to think about it," she decided.

"That's fair, you could be stuck with me if it doesn't work," Draco shrugged, likely unaware of her emotional turmoil. He gave the password to the lost-looking statue with the gloves on his wrong hands, and it sprang aside to allow them entry.

When the door closed behind them, it cut them off from the corridor outside; Hermione suddenly felt the small antechamber that split into the gendered baths, was a very intimate place to be with someone. Draco seemed to have noticed this, too. Though he was giving her an adequate amount of physical space to privately finish digesting their loaded conversation, another smirk stole across his lips at her obvious discomfort. Bitterly, she mentally condemned, _Same Malfoy he's always been..._

"A bath will give me some time to think more about the Adder's Fork," she said, just to break the tension.

He looked disgusted, "You're going to _brainstorm_ in the bath?"

"I enjoy it," she defended herself haughtily. He shook his head in incredulity and she hastily slid the door marker to 'occupied'. "I'll see you afterward."

He effused a noise of deep suffering and his eyes implored her to… something. Without another word, he took the handle and held the door open for her. She initially scoffed at the overly polite gesture, until she realized he meant to follow her in. Shutting the door behind them both and sliding the bar to lock it, Draco made his way past her and toward the tub, where he used his wand to flip on several of the taps.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

He grinned mischievously as he began shucking his shoes, "Saving water."

She could only watch in stupefied fascination as he set his things down on the bench nearby her, grabbed at the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head. Confronted with a shirtless Draco Malfoy, Hermione was at a loss for what to do. Though his body did not seem to be defined by chiseled muscle ( _There goes Parvati's theory,_ she thought disconnectedly, thinking back to her former dorm-mate's whispered gossip), he was lean, pale like the moon, and beautifully masculine as if he were sculpted from marble.

"Keep staring like that, Granger," he dared silkily. "I won't be answerable for the consequences."

Hermione flushed; her brain erratically screamed that his being unanswerable for his actions seemed like an excellent plan to _her_ at that precise moment. She turned away, "I thought we were just bathing. _Separately_."

"We _are_ just bathing," he agreed. "You'll want a good bath. Trust me, it'll help with the soreness."

She chanced a look up, only to discover he had discarded his pants as well, and was now making his way toward the taps clad only in his underwear. ( _Boxer briefs,_ she noted, _spot on, Parvati!_ )

The tub had filled up, but still Hermione had not removed any of her clothing, though she had set her things down and slowly sank onto the bench to begin picking apart her wispy night-braid. Draco slipped into the water, disappearing beneath a volume of foam.

When he resurfaced, his hair was darkened with wetness. Hermione demanded of him, " _Now_ what am I supposed to do? I can't believe you came in here!"

"Relax," he implored. "Keep your knickers on – or don't – and join me."

She eyed him suspiciously. "I'm not giving you a strip tease."

He shrugged, "I'll turn around if it'll make you feel better."

"No need," she insisted stubbornly. "I'll only put my feet in."

Discarding her slippers, Hermione almost immediately regretted her decision when she realized the remains of her toenail polish was mostly chipped away and very sloppy looking. This was leftover from one of Lisa and Padma's girls' nights, when they had insisted the five of them paint their toes in matching colors (Ravenclaw blue and bronze, to be exact). That had been over three weeks ago. She flushed when she noted Draco looking at her feet in a smugly derisive way, which she was convinced meant he was biting back a snarky remark. Rolling up the cuffs of her pants, she padded to the side of the foam-laden tub and dipped her feet into the warmth of the water. She sighed with pleasure as the heat rushed to her aching ankles.

Draco ducked under the water a second time, disappearing below the thick foam before Hermione could say a word. He surfaced directly in front of her, startling her with his sudden reappearance.

"I could have kicked you by accident!"

"But you didn't," he pointed out. Transfixed, she noticed that some of the thick bubbles were clinging to his neck and shoulders. Before she could protest, he took one of her feet in his hands and began rubbing light circles into her arch with his thumbs.

"What are you doing?" she demanded hotly, attempting to pull her foot away.

He snickered at her embarrassment. "Has anyone ever told you you're more tightly wound than a broken pocketwatch? You're suffering from _my_ arthritis, which is very unfair. I'm going to show you what helps with the day-to-day maintenance."

"You're _high_ maintenance," she snapped, again trying to pull her foot away. "This is weird, I can do that without your help."

"But it's better when someone else does it," he countered. "Relax, Granger, you're getting on my nerves. Just enjoy it. I promise you, I won't be making a habit of it."

It took several minutes for Hermione to be able to fully calm herself as he rubbed her foot in light circles, gently massaging the sore areas and pressing hard into the spots that seemed to hold greater tension. When he had finished with her foot, he began working up her ankle and she actually had to stifle a moan of pleasure. When he finished her ankle, he dropped her foot back into the water and with a _plip_ -ing noise, it disappeared beneath the scented foam of the bath, limp as a boned fish.

"Draco," she spoke up thoughtfully, her initial tension lulled by the perfumed air and the massage, "do you think everything is halved – the scars, the arthritis – because we are sharing them?"

Indulgently, he thought a moment before answering, "My arthritis pains are just as bad as they've ever been... and I'd hate to think your, er, moon cycles are twice as worse than what I felt this morning. Why do you ask?"

Eager to put any discussion of her 'moon cycles' behind them as quickly as possible, she babbled, "I just thought, it seems odd that a unicorn's magic could result in something negative since they are quintessentially Light… and if we are supposedly "sharing a Body", in a sense, through this magic… it seems to me we've been mirrored somehow, rather than combined. Since we are still separate physically and nothing has halved, that is."

Draco looked pensive a moment, gray-blue eyes flickering interestedly. "You had better not be brainstorming in the bath."

"I told you, I enjoy brainstorming in the bath…"

"Then you may as well get the rest of the way in, if you're going to subject us both to that."

With a gaze of longing at the water – which really did look very inviting – Hermione squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. He seemed to be searching her, and though she initially tried not to be the one that looked away first, she found she had to drop her gaze after only a few seconds. There were several things written on his face she did not think she was ready to deal with. Especially not with how her own feelings had recently begun to develop.

It impressed her that this was a turning point, somehow. He seemed to know it, too.

Hermione warred with her feelings for a moment. She knew she had a… something… a crush, of sorts, on him, but this was _very_ different from anything she had experienced with Viktor, or Ron, or Oliver. Reason battled her courage for a moment; in the end, the lion won.

"Turn around, then."

Draco obliged, swimming to the middle of the pool-like tub to accommodate her. With a hiss of pleasure as the warmth spread through her limbs, Hermione slid into the water.

"Okay," she told him, thankful for the thick layer of foam to cloak her barely clothed body. "You can turn around now if you want."

He floated almost lazily back over to her. When he was by her side once more, she hid her shiver as his fingers ran down the side of her neck, and in apparent fascination, traced the dull tan lines on her chest and shoulders. "I know things are awkward between us right now. If it's alright with you, I'd like for things to go back to the way they were before all this mess."

Hermione flushed, glad for the fact that this seemed natural in the heat of the room. "I'd like that, too." She shook her head, adding, "But I'm worried. Your mother seems to be putting a lot of pressure on us to… you know." She could not say it. "Twice now, she's brought it up... in as many days. I worry she may have ulterior motives of some sort."

Draco reached for her hand and began the same sort of ministrations he had just performed on her feet, massaging in slow, wide circles. "I didn't plan this, Granger. This is something that happened on its own."

"I believe you."

"It's true that I am not as upset as I could be about the situation," he reasoned, "especially considering my past and my family. I can't speak for any hidden motives my mother might have in promoting a union between us - but if there are any, she has not shared them with me."

"Again, I believe you," she told him. "I still worry."

He had worked his thumb into the palm of her hand and dispelled much of the soreness in her fingers, moving to take her other hand and repeat the experience.

Somewhat shyly for a witch that was half-naked in a tub with a mostly naked wizard, she queried, "Did you really mean it before? When you told my mother you thought I was a remarkable witch?"

Draco inclined his head ever so slightly, "As I revealed to you when we were under the effects of that foul truth-compelling powder, I have held a certain academic regard for you for some time now."

"My heritage though," she challenged. "It doesn't bother you?"

He glanced skyward as he continued to massage her hand and wrist. "It did once, but not for the reasons you'd think. It was difficult to come to terms with the fact that someone who found out they were magical at the age of eleven could best me in every subject, when I'd been raised to believe I was naturally superior," he told her with practiced ease. It was almost as if he had rehearsed this speech at some point. "I'd like to kiss you again, Hermione. If you don't want it, turn your head and I won't try it again."

It did not even occur to her to pull away because the truth was, she wanted him. Relishing the way his arms slid fluidly around her waist, his touch sent her heart fluttering as he pulled her into him. Their kiss began as a press of his lips against hers, while he got a feel for her reaction. Yearning for him to kiss her the way he had done on Halloween, Hermione placed her hands on his biceps and coaxed him closer.

Her breath gave a hitch of satisfaction as his tongue slipped along the seam of her lips, parting them with ease as he dove in for a taste. Hermione felt that stroke of his tongue ricochet through every part of her body… it heated her belly, made her brain become fuzzy, and melted the last of her resolve.

Fingers grazing her hipbones, an index finger curled under the side of her knickers as if hinting at their removal. She pulled away slightly and gently reminded him, "I'm bleeding."

"It doesn't bother me," was his reply as his hands slid up her ribcage and back to her chest. "We're in the tub."

Hermione's hands traveled from his arms to his shoulders and she pulled herself still closer, their bodies now pressed tightly together. She could feel his telling hardness against her thigh through the thin fabric of his underwear.

Boldly reaching down, she channeled that same bravery she'd had on Halloween night, and took the length of him in her hand, rubbing gently. He deepened the kiss in response, fingers trailing back to the clasp of her bra, which he unhooked after some brief fumbling. Without bothering to remove it from her shoulders, his hands slid up beneath the loosened garment and took her breast in his palm. His hands felt sinfully good as he cupped her bare softness. She felt another flicker of heat shoot through her as he flicked at her nipple, and she pulled from the kiss to suck in a breath. He caught her mouth again immediately; she could feel his smirk, while his other hand trailed down her bare stomach and gave her gooseflesh, despite the heat of the tub.

Hermione had been kissed before, but not like this. She had kissed _him_ before, but not like this. _This_ time, she was uninhibited. It was like coming up for air after so long almost drowning.

His hand came to rest possessively on her mons, a finger swooping downward across the thin cloth that separated him from her inner warmth. Before she could even register that his lips had broken from hers, he was peppering kisses along her neck and near her earlobe. Ever so quietly, she heard him murmur, breathy and a little panicked, "Tell me to stop."

She vaguely recalled him saying that to her twice now. _Perhaps he's into emotional masochism..._

In wanton disobedience, she panted back, "Don't stop."

He steered her up against the wall of the tub, the backs of her legs hitting gilded tile. She could feel the weight of him pressed all along her body, the steely hardness of his manhood making her want him in ways she had not desired another person before. There was a roaring in her ears, all the blood rushing through her body, and it was like she was being annihilated... but she did not care.

"Don't stop," she repeated, almost fearfully. Two of his fingers slipped into her knickers and pressed against her naked clitoris, making her shudder.

"Hermione," he purred.

She shivered again, this time at the use of her given name, so rarely bestowed, and said in _that_ voice. His fingers slid easily across her entrance, slick with her need, and he quickly had her squirming.

"Let me bring you," he requested. "Please."

She yielded when his lips crashed back into hers and was lost to his whims. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for her to climax. Afterward, he appeared immensely satisfied with himself.

"What about you?" she queried once she had overcome her bashfulness.

"Doesn't matter," he attested. "It was enough to be able to watch you unravel like that."

As for Hermione, while she had brought herself to climax before, she decided Draco had been right about at least one thing today: it was definitely better when someone else did it for you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope that made up for no Dramione interaction in the last chapter. We certainly all earned a bit of lemon zest, surely?
> 
> As always, I love and appreciate everyone who has supported this story. Thank you for your encouragement and patience.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	32. Snakes & Answers

"Okay, let's say you're under the Imperius Curse," Ron supposed hypothetically at lunch that afternoon. "But then you're given Veritaserum, and the one using the Imperius orders you to lie. Are you able to lie? Or do you have to tell the truth?”

One of Ron's new dorm-mates was Justin Finch-Fletchley, who had been a badger since the age of eleven. According to Justin, the Hufflepuff boys had often stayed awake late into the night discussing philosophical conundrums that had no discernable answer. Terry Boot, a former-Ravenclaw-turned-’Puff, had latched on to this tradition at once. Ron occasionally participated, and was often still puzzling over the discussions at the breakfast table the following morning.

"Huh," Ginny followed, her eyebrows contracted in thought.

"No idea," Harry concluded. His eyes flickered naturally to Hermione for the answer, as they always had.

Hermione owned, "It might come down to the magical strength of the caster or brewer, but I couldn't say for sure."

"I guess we'll never know," Ginny decided, turning contentedly back to her lunch.

"Seamus and Justin both thought the Veritaserum," Ron said, chewing a piece of bacon with the side of his mouth. "Terry thought it depended on the strength of the one behind the Imperius..."

As suddenly as if they had been dropped into the icy water of the Black Lake, Hermione noticed all three of her friends become tense. She craned her neck around Ron to see what had caused the disturbance and was greeted with the sight of Draco, Theo, and Blaise strolling into the Great Hall for lunch. Nott and Zabini were discussing something in low voices, while Draco seemed to be withdrawn in private reflection. Hermione gazed at him, wondering what he was thinking about.

He must have felt himself being looked at, because Draco's slightly glazed expression dissipated in an instant and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. He wordlessly took in the fact that she had been staring at him, and Hermione noticed the slightest of smirks appear on the corner of his mouth. She tried to look away but instead only turned her head, the corner of her eye still meeting his.

It seemed too much of a coincidence not to be by design, when three former-Slytherins passed directly behind Hermione and Ron on the way to their seats. Eye contact broken, she was startled when she felt Draco's fingers softly brush her back as he passed. Unwittingly, she jumped at the unexpected contact and sucked in a breath as she recalled what those very fingers had done to her body only a few hours ago in the bath.

Ron noticed. He became crimson with the effort of restraining himself and quietly threatened, "Watch yourself, Malfoy."

While Theo and Blaise had gone ahead and did not hear the warning, Draco certainly did. With an even larger smirk, his eyes flashed quickly to Hermione before resting on Ron's reddened face, "Just walking, Weasley."

Draco departed to join his friends, who had by now found their seats and were watching him interact with Ron with interest.

"Walk a little faster," Ron growled after his retreating form, this time far too low for Draco to hear.

Hermione was disheartened to find that Harry and Ginny were staring at her with identical veiled expressions from across the table. Though Malfoy did not bother them again, conversation was stilted for the remainder of their meal, and Hermione was glad for the excuse of an Arithmancy essay to leave the Great Hall early.

_ It's still progress _ , she thought resolutely, recalling how volatile the boys’ relationship with Malfoy had once been.  _ Once upon a time, they would have arranged to meet for a wizard's duel at midnight... _

.

.

The week passed at record speed. Hermione ended up sending six of Hogwarts’ owls to different corners of the world, carrying missives to practicing alchemists. In them, she was sure to explain everything that had happened in great detail, along with where she could be contacted. She hoped she had been able to successfully convey a sense of urgency, also. Now, she had only to wait.

Ernie had reported Draco to McGonagall for not showing up to his designated prefect’s duties. While Draco had received a stern lecture from the headmistress, McGonagall did seem to have some empathy for his situation, as the lecture was the only punishment he received. During Thursday's patrol – which he was early for, possibly to prove a point to a watchful Ernie Macmillan – Draco handed over Salazar Slytherin's alchemy journal for Hermione to borrow. They did not mention Tuesday morning in the prefects' bathroom at all, and instead spent a good deal of their rounds discussing the journal's contents. Patrol culminated as it usually did, with them clearing Pansy Parkinson and her current lover out of the caves. 

“Must she do this  _ every _ night?” Hermione sighed in exasperation as Draco’s wandlight fell on the guilty pair.

The boy, a Ravenclaw this time, sprang to his feet, looking sheepish. Though he attempted to stutter out an apology to the two prefects, Draco saved him his efforts with a, “That’ll be ten points from Ravenclaw, Selwyn… plus ten from Hufflepuff, for Parkinson. Now get back to your dormitories straight away.”

Selwyn scurried off, zipping his trousers as he went, and seeming keen to put as much distance between himself and getting in trouble as possible. Hermione personally thought that ten points was too lenient for being out-of-bounds after curfew.

Meanwhile, Pansy had crossed her arms over her chest and was busy pouting. For the first time, Hermione noticed there was a half-empty bottle of wine by her side, and that the witch’s shirt was unbuttoned nearly to her navel; a set of voluptuous breasts barely contained by lacy, red underthings was on full display, but she made no move to remedy that fact. “Must you ruin  _ all _ my fun, Draco?”

“If you aren’t ready for bed yet, Pansy, go back to your common room,” Draco replied. Hermione had to appreciate that despite her assets being on display, he looked only at her face.

Pouting, the witch got slowly to her feet. With a wave of her wand, Hermione vanished the bottle of wine. Turning on her, Parkinson snarled, “I wasn’t  _ finished  _ with that.”

“You are now,” Hermione retorted, “and we’ll be reporting you to McGonagall.”

With a roll of her eyes, the former-Slytherin girl slowly began to button her blouse. “You say that like you think I’m going to care, Granger. McGonagall - this whole school - is a joke. Especially if they feel they can give some kind of modicum of power to someone like  _ you _ …” she poked a finger nearly into Hermione’s chest, then jabbed her thumb in Draco’s direction, “...alongside someone like  _ him _ .”

Eyes narrowing, Hermione challenged, “And just what does that mean?”

But Pansy only laughed, giving up on her two top buttons. Retrieving her shoes and stockings from where they were discarded on the dirt floor of the cave - along with something that looked suspiciously like her knickers - she began to head toward the exit, her hips swaying as she went. As a farewell, she called over her shoulder, “Just so you know, Draco, Selwyn never managed to get me off… if you’re feeling up to the job, later…”

Then she was gone. Hermione was gratified to see that Draco looked only disgusted at his former house-mate’s insinuation. Scathingly, she voiced, "I don't understand why she always comes down here if she knows she's going to get caught.”

Draco shrugged, shining his wandlight around the rest of the cave for good measure. It almost seemed like he was trying too hard to sound casual when he remarked, “It's a good spot for a snog.”

She snorted in derision, causing him to lift an eyebrow.

"You don't think so?"

"Doubtful," she confirmed, still thinking of the way Pansy had bent down to retrieve her discarded knickers from the dirt.

Expecting a return in their verbal repartee, Hermione was met instead with Draco's lips on hers. He pressed her up against the cool wall of the underground cave and delved sensually into her mouth with his tongue. At first, she was too tense to respond, but with some nonverbal coaxing, she soon gave in to him. Before she knew it, all thoughts of their encounter with Parkinson had been driven completely from her mind, and they had spent above a quarter of an hour kissing up against the wall of the barely-lit passage.

When they parted, he was grinning broadly and Hermione supposed there was something to the logic of using the caves for a snog, after all. Down here, the shadows warred with the torchlight in Draco's eyes; it was like peering into a part of him she had never expected to see.

They said goodnight in the common room, sharing a brief look of understanding before heading up the stairs to their respective dormitories. As Hermione climbed to the topmost turret of the tower, she thought of the way Draco held her as he kissed her, and wondered,  _ What would Ginny think? _

She found Lisa was still awake, sitting up in her bed and quietly recording in her personal journal by wandlight. The other three beds had the curtains pulled; the other girls were apparently already asleep.

"Hey," Hermione whispered so as not to wake the others.

"Hey," Lisa returned, looking up. She observed her friend a moment before commenting placidly, "You seem happy, Hermione. I’m glad."

Hermione found it very difficult to fall asleep that night.

.

.

Slytherin's journal was very interesting; Hermione read the entire thing three times in two days. It discussed Adder's Fork at great length, even describing its use in an actual unbinding ceremony between a man and a goat - something she desperately hoped had been the result of an accident like hers. Other than the subtle implications of bestiality, the situation seemed uncannily familiar.

She used her pass to the restricted section again that Sunday, checking out a book that earned her another suspicious look from Madam Pince. She did not really blame the librarian for her concern, as the title proclaimed  _ Serpents and the Dark Arts _ in peeling gold leaf. The leather of the volume was stained with something dark and horrible looking, and the book was filled with the sort of material that made Hermione recall  _ Moste Potente Potions _ , from which she had got the instructions to brew Polyjuice back in second year.

_ Sometimes the end justifies the means _ , she tried to tell herself, though this argument fell flat, even in her own mind.

While she found the content distasteful, the book did a decent job of explaining that not all serpents were magical. At the same time, it offered a wealth of information about inherently magical snakes such as adders, runespoors, and basilisks. In an interesting twist, Hermione later discovered the tome had been written by one of Salazar Slytherin's descendants. Unfortunately, the book only confirmed that there was only a single correct way to harvest Adder's Fork and that there was no magical substitute for it.

In part due to this disappointing conclusion, the rest of Hermione's weekend was spent cloistered away in the library until Ginny began to complain that she was disappearing on them again.

.

.

On Monday morning, Hermione received two owls. One carried the  _ Daily Prophet _ as usual, while the other carried a letter so small, it was really more of a note. She did not recognize the delivery owl, either. Unfolding the mysterious parchment with curiosity, she read:

 

_ Miss Hermione Granger, _

_ Please grant me the honor of your presence at the Three Broomsticks this coming Saturday at three for tea. _

_ I await your owl, _

_ Narcissa Malfoy _

 

Refolding the parchment, Hermione slipped it into her bookbag before her friends might enquire about it. She glanced across the Great Hall, but Draco was nowhere to be found. 

_ He must have breakfasted early again _ , she decided.

She had a feeling she already knew what Mrs. Malfoy wanted, anyway…

.

.

Hermione's first opportunity to speak with Draco came that evening during patrol.

"I received some post this morning, from your mother," she announced, handing him the note as they made their way down the fourth floor corridor.

Draco took the offered parchment with interest and scanned it twice before handing it back. "She must have found out it's a Hogsmeade weekend."

"How should I answer?"

He quirked up an eyebrow at her. "Are you thinking of going?"

"I haven't decided yet. Are you still getting constant mail from her?"

"Every day… sometimes twice a day," he confirmed. "I haven't answered her, which is probably why she's moved her efforts over to you."

Since this was what Hermione had suspected, she queried, "She's going to keep this up until one of us responds, isn't she?"

Silence from her companion was the only answer she received, but by now she had become familiar enough with Draco that she took this as confirmation.

"Would you go with me if I went?"

Draco huffed out a laugh, "If you insist on humoring her, I suppose someone has got to make sure she stays in line. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not sure you can handle her on your own. She's crafty, and I know her tricks."

"Then it's settled, I'll answer her tomorrow." Checking to be sure they really were alone, Hermione lightly kissed his cheek before pulling away as they headed down to the third floor.

While it certainly had not been a part of her plan, Hermione could not complain when they entered the trophy room and Draco reciprocated her chaste peck on the cheek with a proper kiss. Something seemed different about it this time, like there was a softness in his touch that had never been present before.

Her knees weakened when his warm lips travelled the sensitive skin of her neck. Encouraged by her body's response to him, he tantalizingly pressed open-mouthed kisses to the juncture of her neck and shoulder before moving torturously back up the length of her throat. Her chest swelled with each breath and she pressed her body into his.

_ We fit together _ , she thought disjointedly, simultaneously feeling her knickers become warm with need.

Draco seemed to be thinking along the same lines as her, because Hermione could feel his semi-hardened length pressing against her thigh where their bodies touched. It made her think of the bath they had shared early last Tuesday morning when he had brought her to climax just by sliding his fingers across her swollen clitoris. He had been the first to touch her in such an intimate place. Instead of feeling embarrassed, it had felt natural and frankly, amazing.

She wanted to repay the favor; he had not allowed her to reciprocate then.

Mindful of the fact that they were in the Hogwarts trophy room instead of some truly private place, Hermione slowly backed Draco into a dark corner between two display cupboards. He seemed to realize instinctively what she was about because he was sure to push himself as far back against the wall as possible, in the unlikely chance of intruders.

You could not be on the run for almost nine months with two boys and not occasionally glimpse one or both of their penises. Boys were not shy about where they took a piss; Ron had been even less picky about which tree he chose to mark than Harry, having grown up with five older brothers. Hermione had never examined them of course – they were brief flashes of nudity, never sexual moments – though she did feel a kind of weird curiosity whenever it happened.

Being up close and personal to Draco's penis was an entirely new level of comfort zone being shattered for her. She disentangled herself from him and with slightly trembling hands, unbuckled his belt and reached into his uniform pants. His head fell back against the wall with a dull  _ thump _ and Hermione gratifyingly felt him shudder. He actually groaned when she grasped his shaft and began stroking him with her fingers.

She moved slowly, learning him as she went. Her entire body was vibrating with the unknown and anticipation. Softly, she whispered, "I'd like to repay you for last week."

He looked up in surprise. Her hand paused and they shared a brief look in which he gave her permission to continue and Hermione plucked up her courage. She pulled her hand from his pants and sank to her knees, working on his zipper with her fingers. She shot him a second questioning look. The hungry expression of his eyes answered. Having freed his button, she slowly slid down his pants and pulled his member free.

He was so hard, so long, so  _ ready _ – and now, she was, too. Experimentally, she placed her lips on the tip of his shaft.

"Yes…" slipped quietly from his lips.

She had no idea what she was doing, but she found she liked it. Licking down the length of him with short swipes to start, she was fascinated by the pearlescent droplet of fluid that collected at his engorged head. He moaned lowly when she swirled her tongue across the tip and tasted him, eventually working her way up to actually putting him in her mouth.

"I'm close," he had to warn after only a few minutes.

She nodded, taking him further into her mouth. Everything she had ever learned from listening to Lavender or Parvati gossip about their sexual exploits (or more commonly, someone  _ else's  _ exploits), reminded her that it was best to swallow. It might taste bitter or salty, but there would be a mess otherwise. She had once asked Lavender why someone couldn’t just use a  _ scourgify _ afterward. Lavender had looked at her, shocked, and only replied,  _ Trust me, just swallow... _

So when Draco climaxed, it was deep down her throat, and she swallowed it all.

"Gods," he muttered once he had come down from his high.

Hermione swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and got back to her feet while Draco repaired his current state of dishabille.

Though the taste of him had been both bitter and salty as expected, she found she was glad she had taken Lavender's advice from years ago, as it had allowed her to watch. The spectacular image of Draco completely coming undone before her eyes would be something she never wanted to forget.

.

.

The next day, Hermione quickly became frazzled after Theo Nott had spent most of their morning classes cheekily grinning at her. This seemed too great a coincidence after what she had done with Draco the previous evening.

Knowing that she had shared parts of her strange relationship with Draco, with three of her own friends, she also knew she should not be mad at Draco for telling Theo – if that was what had actually happened. Still, the idea of him describing to Nott what she had done for him in the trophy room after curfew, made her stomach churn in discomfort.  _ Surely he didn't tell…  _

It was an occurrence that never could have happened until after the war; the power dynamics behind Harry Potter's best friend giving a Death Eater a blowjob were too loaded for a pre-war situation.

_ Some time in the library will help, _ she decided. Instead, she ran straight into Theodore, himself, on the first floor landing.

"You look a million miles away, Granger," he observed with amusement.

"Hello, Nott."

"So it's back to 'Nott' instead of 'Theo'?"

"You called me 'Granger'," she pointed out. "It's the same thing."

"Alright: you look a million miles away, Hermione. Care to elaborate why?"

"Thinking about you, actually," she replied. "Would you care to join me in the library?"

He japed, "Wouldn't want to intrude. Isn't 'going to the library' code for 'alone-time' for you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because I would  _ definitely _ invite you to that…"

"Sarcasm? Not very witty for a Ravenclaw."

"Actually, I was hoping to speak to you some more about your Sight."

It was not even a lie. Hermione had shared many things with Harry, Ron, and Ginny about her murky relationship with Draco, but she had kept Theo's prediction of her future, to herself. For the most part, this had been because she had always distrusted diviners. Additionally, while Theo claimed his being a Seer was not necessarily a secret, Hermione felt she was keeping his confidence in remaining quiet about what powers he claimed to possess.

However, after what seemed like too lucky a guess about their marriage, Hermione had become curious. She was too curious to allow the claim to go uninvestigated. Also, there was the fact that Draco, himself, had suggested she question him.

Theo waggled his eyebrows at her, eyes glittering mischievously, "I can hardly wait to find out what led to you ask me about this out of the blue… Does it have to be the library, though? It smells like books in there… and people who like to read books…"

She cast him a withering look as they walked, querying, "Like me, you mean?"

He shook his head, " _ You're _ alright, but have you seen that Hufflepuff prefect that looks like the love child of a goblin and a Devil's Snare? Poor chap. Bet he likes books."

Hermione stifled her laugh, not wanting to encourage him.

They found a removed table near the back of the library which Theo deemed acceptable. Hermione cast a  _ muffliato _ before bluntly asking, "How much do you know?"

"That's just about as vague as you can get, Hermione," he pointed out. "Want to narrow it down for a me just a bit?"

_ Maybe Draco didn't tell him, after all, _ she dared to hope. "Malfoy suggested I ask you more about your gift."

"May I first ask what brought this question on so suddenly?"

Fidgeting, she could not quite meet his eye for a moment as she struggled to answer, "I just need to know…"

"…Why you'd jump into matrimony with my best mate?" he grinned.

"Well, yes," she agreed sensibly. "When you consider our past, it just doesn't make sense. I want to know what made you think it would happen."

"That's the beauty of the Sight," he explained, leaning forward. "I didn't  _ think _ it would happen… I  _ witnessed _ it happen."

Hermione swallowed heavily. She knew under normal circumstances, she would never be considering marriage at this stage of her life - and to Draco Malfoy, nonetheless! She was still finishing up her schooling, for Agrippa's sake. But these weren't normal circumstances... and marriage to Draco Malfoy had suddenly become something she was contemplating.

"Please tell me more. I would like to hear what you have to say."

Theo clasped his hands and pressed his fingertips together, resting his chin on them as he studied her. "The fine details of your relationship with Draco have always been a bit foggy. What I can See for certain, is that that two of you willingly participate in a legal binding of marriage - and soon. Funny enough, it seems to lack most of the usual romantic shite that leads up to a pureblood going against his family and hitching himself to a Mud… er, sorry, Muggle-born."

His face to morphed into a contrite expression, and it was this that made Hermione decide to ignore the near-slip, in light of the fact that he had at least caught himself this time. "I see," she encouraged, "go on."

He looked almost as eager to tell her as she was to be told. "For instance, your marriage takes place in a courtroom, which would definitely suggest elopement. However, both of your mothers are present, so it isn't a secret – at least, I assume that's your mother, since you look like her." He paused to lick his lips. "Narcissa seems to outwardly disapprove of Draco's marriage, but she also sees the benefits of it."

Hermione frowned, "What benefits?"

Theo only shrugged, "I can't See into her head, I can only view things occurring."

"Fine, then: as someone who has known the Malfoy family for many years, maybe you could explain to me why Narcissa Malfoy might be interested in a match between myself and her precious son, despite that she hates my blood status?"

"Surely you can come up with the answer to that one on your own? Just use your logic, Ravenclaw. The Malfoys are in need of some  _ serious _ social redemption."

Hermione recalled McGonagall's warning from Halloween morning.  _ Would the Malfoys really encourage a match like this just to improve their social standing? Didn’t Narcissa want this to be a secret?  _ Scathingly, she spat out, "What about their  _ pure _ bloodline?"

"I couldn't say," Theo answered. "I'm not sure how the mind of a Malfoy works, I can only speculate. Aren't you going to ask me other things about your future? That's what people always want to know."

She shook her head. "I've meddled with time before; I know how it works. It's better I not know."

"Merlin, you're boring."

She glared at him from across their library table.

He leaned forward once more, a glint in his green eyes. "Fine, then. One last thing you should know, Hermione: by the time you marry him, you're definitely in love with Draco."

"I highly doubt that," she tried to scoff, but a tremor in her voice gave herself away.

Seeming pleased that he had affected her, Theo leaned back into his chair. "Draco, of course, has already cared about you for some time now."

She blinked, "He has?"

"Merlin's hairy rod,  _ obviously _ ! I don't need to look into the past, present or future to see that!" he effused, violently adding, "You should be able to see it too."

"But he's so cold most of the time…" she protested.

He looked incredulous, "Have you  _ met _ the Malfoys, sweetheart? By their standards, he's practically singing you ballads!"

"I'm just not sure I trust you."

Theo's eyes narrowed and he adjusted his glasses to look at her better, daring, "Ask me anything."

"I'm not doing that," she insisted firmly.

"I'll tell you things about your past," he compromised.

"I'll know if you're lying," she warned suspiciously.

"I know that," he grinned. Theodore closed his eyes a moment before he began rattling off: "You're young, a little girl. God, your hair was even worse then. You're riding a purple bicycle with sparkling streamers on the handlebars…"

_ How could he know about that bicycle? Perhaps I mentioned it once… _

"Next you're with some Ravenclaw prefect in a hallway and you're looking into a hand-mirror around the corners…  _ Circe's tits _ ! Is that a basilisk?"

_ Only me, Harry, Ron, some of the teachers, and Penelope Clearwater knew about that moment… that's still a lot of people. One of them could have mentioned something at some point… _

Theo seemed newly impressed with his companion after the last vision. "You're with an older man in a driveway and you're both wearing leather jackets. He's telling you directions and you're getting onto the back of some sort of Muggle machine that makes one hell of a noise. Is that your brother? He looks like you."

"My father," she corrected softly, unable to account for Theo knowing about this moment. "He sometimes takes me for motorbike rides."

"Hmm. Let's see, now you're standing in a house near the ocean and looking out the window. You're looking down and you find a long, black hair on your cardigan.  _ Eugh _ ! I didn't know you were going to vom…"

_ Bellatrix's hair,  _ Hermione realized, thinking back to that moment at Shell Cottage last spring.  _ I was alone, how could he have known I was sick after I discovered it? _

"How sweet, now you're petting unicorns with the half-giant that teaches Care of Magical Creatures… Potter and Weasley are there, too... Now, I believe you are arguing with one of your dorm-mates about fairy wings – such an exciting life you lead, Granger. Fairy wings, and unicorns, and bicycles with sparkling streamers…"

Hermione did not immediately respond, as she was struggling with a mental crossroads regarding divination - a prejudice she had for a long time.

"Sickle for your thoughts?"

She realized with a start that she had been staring at the table. "Well, this certainly gives me a good deal to think about."

Theo grinned.

"I wonder, Theodore," she thought aloud. "What do you see of your own future?"

Nott's face immediately hardened at the question, and he actually growled at her like a feral beast, thus refusing to answer. Taken aback, Hermione stared at him for a few moments while he collected himself.

"Alright then," she soothed. "You don't have to say."

Inwardly, she could not help but wonder,  _ What was that about? _

Forcing herself to bury her curiosity, she requested Theo walk with her to Ancient Runes since they were both headed there next. He soon loosened back up, and began joking with her as if he had never had any outburst. Hermione supposed the former-Slytherin was allowed to have his little idiosyncrasies and was determined to forget it.

.

.

"I spoke with Theo on Tuesday," Hermione told Draco on Thursday's patrol, "as you suggested."

"And have you made any conclusions?" he wanted to know as they descended the staircase to the dungeons.

"He certainly knows something of the past, somehow," she begrudgingly admitted. "I didn't ask him for my future."

Draco nodded sagely, "Sometimes it's best not to know.” Presently, he added, "Theo's highly loyal to those he cares about, though they are few enough."

"I can see that," she murmured.

"Somehow, without any effort on your part, you have become one of the few."

What was she supposed to say to that? That she had put effort in? They both knew she hadn't. For whatever reason, a person who did not like to form attachments, had attached himself to her. It was perplexing.

"You should know," Draco continued seriously, "Theo used to self-harm during the war. He felt guilty for the deaths of his brothers, killed by their father because they were illegitimate." He shook his head. "I know you associate my father with horrible things, but you should understand that Theo's father was far,  _ far _ worse. My father committed crimes during the war because he sought what he perceived to be lasting nobility for his line. The late Nott Sr. committed crimes because he enjoyed hurting people and murdering those he deemed inferior. When he was killed in the Battle of Hogwarts, Theo's life could only improve. He stopped harming himself almost immediately."

_ It must be strange to live in the place your father was killed _ , Hermione thought, wondering how this thought had never occurred to her before. She took some time to digest everything and voiced, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because he's decided you’re a friend, and you should understand a few things about him if that's the case. You should also appreciate what an odd thing it is that someone like Theo, with a jaded past and a miserable childhood, would want to befriend you. Once, I would have said he had done it to piss off his father. Now, I believe he really thinks you'll be an important piece of his life somehow."

Before she could stop herself, she queried, "Through you?"

If she was not blushing before, she certainly was now. Her only consolation was that Draco was, too.

"We'll see," he answered quietly.

.

.

Friday was characterized by a shiver of excitement for the coming weekend which ran through the whole of the student body; the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor Quidditch match was that evening, followed by Hogsmeade on Saturday.

Hermione was not looking forward to tea with Narcissa, but she also wanted it to be over. Therefore, it was with frustrated impatience that she attended her morning classes. This was exacerbated by the fact that she was forced to sit through yet another double block of Alchemy next to Oliver Rivers without really speaking to him. There was a distinct flavor of awkwardness to their partnership now, despite that they had outwardly agreed to be friends.

With relief, Hermione coveted the solace of an empty dormitory over the lunch break, only to have it violently dismantled when the other four occupants of the room came bursting in all at once. Their spirits were high and they refused to accept otherwise from Hermione. In no time at all, Lisa was braiding their hair again, as she had for the last Quidditch match. This time, they all sported identical blue-and-bronze ribbons.

When it was time, the girls descended for dinner in a tizzy of anticipation; the Great Hall was already alive with the same crackling energy. Soon enough, the Quidditch teams stood – including Sue, who played for Ravenclaw – to head to the locker rooms. The rest of the hall cheered them as they disappeared. After dinner, the school tramped their way noisily out into the stands to support their respective Houses. By now, Hermione's dreary mood had completely gone and she was happily cheering Sue on with Padma, Lisa and Daphne.

It was an embarrassing defeat for the lions. After the Ravenclaw Seeker captured the Snitch, ending the game at 410-80, the new Gryffindor team captain could be seen shouting at his Chasers and one of his Beaters on the field. Meanwhile the blue-robed blurs took a victory lap around the stadium. Lisa dealt out high-energy hugs to her friends; Hermione nearly had the breath squeezed out of her.

Laughing, Hermione turned around to look for Draco, this time conscious that she was doing it. After a few moments, she found him and was glad to see he was smiling, too.

But he was not looking out at the Quidditch Pitch. He was looking at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I truly appreciate everyone who has continued to support this fanfic as it goes. Even the silent readers - drop me a line, let me know you’re here! I appreciate you just for reading.
> 
> Beta love on this chapter goes to the ineffable talents of the fantastic I_was_BOTWP. You rock.


	33. The Proposal

It seemed to Hermione that her knee joints knew the weather would be iffy for walking outside that day. She woke early and found they were inflamed with rheumatism. While she had determined to ignore the pain at first, she soon caved and made the long trek to the Hospital Wing.

It was scarily easy to become addicted to potions that could relieve pain, but she procured one anyway, citing an invented fall in the hallway as the cause. If Madam Pomfrey thought she might be lying, she did not let on. Hermione recalled second year when she accidentally drank Polyjuice Potion with cat hair in it. The healer never pried too much into whatever had landed students in her ward. _She never asks too many questions. Maybe she would let me go there more regularly..._

Shaking the thought off, she decided that a bottle of ibuprofen was coming home with her from Christmas Break. Sometimes, Muggles really did have a better option.

After a hasty breakfast, Hermione ascended to her dormitory to gather her things for Hogsmeade. The weather outside the window was bleak and the grounds were covered in a light frost as the world readied to welcome an imminent winter. The sun was present, but hazy and pale. She laid out her chosen outfit on her bed in pieces, trying to select things that would shield her against the cold, but would also look nice. There was something about Draco's mother that made Hermione loathe to have the woman seeing her looking less than her best… especially when Narcissa herself always seemed so well put-together and collected. Hermione wanted to be taken seriously by her - even if the witch was haughty and rude. Thus, today's outfit was chosen with more than the usual amount of care.

It might also have been – just a _teensy_ bit – because she was going to Hogsmeade with Draco. Granted, it was not technically a date... they were seeing his mother... but they were actually going there, together...

In order to avoid most of their peers, Draco had suggested they leave after the main body of students had already gone, but before they started returning; Hermione had agreed. They would meet by the Entrance Hall an hour and a half after most had left.

She tried on a few winter hats from her meager selection, but each of them made her head look like a pile of brambles. _Oh well,_ she settled unconvincingly, biting her lip as she took in her reflection in the mirror.

She wrenched the hat off her head, however, when Daphne, Sue, and Padma invaded the dormitory, all chattering excitedly about their Hogsmeade plans. The three dressed quickly, donning their cloaks and scarves. Padma teasingly admonished Hermione not to spend the day inside before taking off with Sue, while Daphne spent somewhat longer than usual in front of the bathroom mirror. She left wearing a secret smile that Hermione suspected meant she was finally going on an official date with Ron.

The dormitory now empty again, Hermione set about trying to tame her wild locks. After she worked at her hair for the better part of an hour without success, Lisa returned from breakfast and took pity on her friend, offering kindly to straighten it for her.

"Yes, please," Hermione caved, desperate now.

When Lisa was finished, shining waves cascaded over Hermione's shoulders and down her back. Pleased that her head no longer looked like a barely contained firework, Hermione listened intently as Lisa instructed her how to set the winter cap at just the right angle atop her straightened locks.

"You look great," the former-Hufflepuff complimented. "Have a secret date today?"

"Merlin, no," Hermione answered, taking the hat off for the moment. "McGonagall asked me and Malfoy to patrol for part of the day." This was the excuse she and Draco had come up with to avoid awkward questions if they should be seen together in the village.

Lisa made a noise of despair, "That's _punishment_! She shouldn't be able to take away your Hogsmeade weekend and make you spend more time with _him_!"

"He's not so bad as all that…"

Shaking her head, she despaired, "I just can't believe they let a _Death Eater_ back into Hogwarts..."

Hermione shrugged, affecting nonchalance, "McGonagall thought he deserved a second chance."

"He probably _killed people,_ Hermione!" Lisa protested, her eyes widening. "Doesn't it creep you out, being alone with him so much?"

_Draco couldn't possibly have killed someone,_ she inwardly scoffed. A niggling thought gave her pause as it wormed its way into her mind, _Right?_

Pushing back against her doubt, Hermione replied, firmly, "I can take care of myself. Trust me, I have been face-to-face with far more frightening things than Draco Malfoy."

"Classic Gryffindor," her friend responded diplomatically, though she still grimaced.

She smiled, swelling with leonine pride, "Thank you."

A short while later, Lisa left to meet up with some friends for the village. Hermione donned her cloak and hat before gazing critically at herself in the mirror, adjusting her cap as Lisa had showed her.

"Well, here goes nothing," Hermione said to Crookshanks when the time came. The cat only blinked back up at her from his cozy spot on her bed, watching lazily as she wrapped her Ravenclaw scarf around her neck.

Draco was waiting outside the Entrance Hall, just as he said he would be, and leaning casually against the wall. The moment he spotted her, Hermione noticed his eyes did not leave her until she approached. She thought he looked apprehensive, but chalked it up to her own nervousness.

He jerked his head in the direction of the exit. "Shall we?"

Outside, there was a chill wind accompanying the pallid sky; the air stung of imminent snowfall. The sight of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy walking into Hogsmeade together began a series of excited whispers amongst the few that witnessed it. Despite that they left later than the main exodus of students, there was still a trickle of people on their way to and from the village. They were to meet Narcissa in the Three Broomsticks at three.

"Maybe we should have met there," Hermione stammered nervously as four younger Ravenclaw girls passed, one of them openly pointing at the two of them together and whispering to the others.

Draco glared disgustedly at the gaggle of younger students and they trotted away quickly. He muttered, "Ignore them. Let's go."

Hermione knew that since she was in pain today, Draco must be too - but he did not let it show, except to walk slightly slower than he usually did. This, he executed as a confident, nonchalant stroll… as if the world's pace had shifted from his own, rather than the other way around.

He pulled it off with far more grace than her, she thought. The potion she had taken had only sort-of worked and though she was anxious to avoid unwelcome staring, her body was glad for the slower pace. Perhaps Draco was mindful of that, too.

Narcissa was waiting upstairs at the Three Broomsticks in a private room next to the one McGonagall had previously reserved. To combat the weather that characterized a Scottish November, there was a comforting blaze in the room's expansive hearth. An assortment of tea, biscuits and small cakes were laid out on the table, enough to feed ten people. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but Draco acted as if this were normal.

Narcissa gestured to the empty seats at the round table and invited, "Please, have a seat. Make yourselves comfortable."

Unwinding her scarf from around her neck, Hermione draped it over the back of her seat, along with her coat, before settling into the seat opposite Draco, and a fair distance from his mother. When she looked up at Narcissa, she noticed that the woman was arrested by the sight of her son mimicking Hermione's movements. For a moment, she was confused, until Narcissa spoke.

"Why are you wearing a Ravenclaw scarf, Draco?"

_He hasn't told her?_ Hermione could not say why that shocked her. Perhaps it was because she still partially had a view that Draco would not hide something so important from his mother.

He surprised her again, "Surely you saw in the _Prophet_ that Hogwarts underwent a re-sorting, mother? Ravenclaw is my new house."

Narcissa's perfectly painted lips pursed into a disapproving look as she admonished, "And surely, when I wrote to you at the beginning of term, asking how you were settling in, this would have been something to mention."

"It must have slipped my mind," he answered unconvincingly.

An awkward silence punctuated that thought. The teapot rose up of its own accord and began pouring tea into each of their cups. Narcissa queried, "How are your classes, Draco?"

Hermione was struck by how Slytherin this conversation was trending. Glancing down at the Ravenclaw scarf on the back of Draco's chair, she wondered at how much minor family drama had arisen just because of his choice to wear it. Still, she could not be put off by it; she recalled how the blue in the scarf and the gray in the sky had worked in tandem to make Draco's eyes seem as if they had been fashioned from cut crystal.

_Focus, Hermione._ She reached for the honey to sweeten her tea.

"They're going well enough," he responded somewhat stiffly. Hermione hid her grin, because it was the same question her parents always asked her, too - but a very different answer.

"And you, Miss Granger? Are you having a pleasant term so far?" Narcissa queried politely, her face wearing an expression of affected interest.

"I am," she responded. Pleasantries were fine and all, but she was not keen on spending longer than she needed to with this woman. "I would like to hear why you asked me for tea."

Mrs. Malfoy's expression morphed into one of exasperation. She turned to her son and sighed, "No tact, no politesse. How unfortunate."

"Or fortunate," Hermione defended passionately. "Your family has always made it expressly clear what you think of witches like me. I have no reason to be here except that you summoned me. Why is that precisely?"

Draco's eyes widened slightly, as if in surprise at her bluntness, but that was the only indication he gave that he had heard Hermione's demand.

"As you choose, I'll be direct," Narcissa sneered as the sugar bowl dumped a heaping spoonful into her tea. "I'm proposing marriage between the two of you – since no one else seems inclined to do it themselves. Wait the year and a day, then divorce and use the severing magic to unencumber yourselves."

"There's no guarantee a divorce would unbind us," Hermione insisted. "It's a plan based entirely on educated guesswork."

"I suppose your backup plan is to attempt to harness a nearly lost brand of experimental magic?" Narcissa scoffed, daintily taking her first sip of tea. "You cannot hope to ever succeed if you choose that course. Some wizards spend their entire lives trying to create the fifth element, wasting their existence in failure..."

"It isn't failure if they spend their lives in the pursuit of knowledge," Hermione argued stubbornly.

Mrs. Malfoy's eyes became suddenly hard and any guise of politeness she had carried in them disappeared into darkness. "Miss Granger, why don't you want to marry my son?"

"Mother," Draco warned.

Hermione's pulse began to quicken and she could feel her consciousness fluttering. _Not now… please not now. Breathe, Hermione..._

"This is your likeliest chance at an easy way out," Narcissa all but whined, ignoring Draco whilst unaware of Hermione's imminent panic attack. "You're young, but you're not _stupid_. You could keep it a secret for a year, then go your separate ways."

_Not in front of her,_ Hermione told herself firmly. This felt too much like being wounded in front of an enemy. _Just breathe._

For the first time, she seemed to be winning the war inside her head. Sure to keep her breathing steady, she slowly remarked, "There's another way: an identical mandala with Adder's Fork to split us."

Narcissa flinched and glanced at the doors and windows as if afraid the Ministry of Magic might swoop in on their conversation at the mention of Dark magic. When no such intrusion occurred, the Malfoy matriarch composed herself and insisted, "Members of the Malfoy family no longer involve themselves in Dark magic, Miss Granger."

_In and out... in... and out... breathe in, breathe out..._ Still fighting the urge to dissolve into a puddle on the floor, Hermione could feel her heart beating more regularly again while her pulse quieted somewhat. Her efforts seemed to be working.

Draco explained, "She's worried, mother, that you may have ulterior motives in promoting this course. Is it possible you're interested in using Granger's new reputation for social gain?"

Narcissa's jaw clenched, which was the only sign that she was losing her patience. "I assure you, Miss Granger, my husband and I _detest_ the idea of you being attached to our family line in any permanent way."

"Mother," Draco warned a second time, this time with more force. "It's a legitimate question. Don't say anything you'll later regret."

"I'm not ashamed of my beliefs, Draco," she insisted, though her eyes had still not left Hermione. Leaning in toward her proposed daughter-in-law, she pressed, "You could go to the Ministry for a marriage license tomorrow and be free of your alliance in a year."

If Hermione had not been feeling so raw from successfully fighting off a panic attack, she might never have said it: "I don't _want_ to get divorced! I want to fall in love with someone and marry them when the time is right. I'm nineteen years old!"

"How foolish," Narcissa scoffed. "As if _love_ has anything to do with marriage. Being wed is about solidifying alliances and improving family trees. Enough of love may follow after that."

"I pity you," Hermione told her, "if that's really what you think marriage is about." She hastily began gathering her things around to leave, pausing momentarily to impatiently swipe at the single frustrated tear that came in spite of her bravery.

"Hermione, please stay," Draco requested quietly.

She glanced at him and took in the façade of his calm demeanor. He could not possibly be as tranquil as he seemed, she knew. It was his mask back in place - it struck her how odd it was seeing it, and she realized belatedly that it was because he had not worn it around her in some time. It was this realization and the fact that he had called her by her given name that induced her to stay. Narcissa seemed to be watching the entire exchange with great interest.

"Mother, you should know that yours and father's wishes do not factor into any alliance I might chose to enter into," Draco told her solidly.

"No, indeed," the older witch answered scathingly, "you do not even seem to deem it necessary to inform us when life-altering changes affect you." She glanced darkly to the Ravenclaw scarf on the back of his seat once more.

As if not hearing her, he pressed, "I am perfectly able to make my own decisions - including setting my own terms for a potential betrothal."

She protested, "Draco, your father and I know how to run an estate… you're doing an admirable job on your own, I'll grant you, but you're still learning…"

Draco ignored her. He turned back to Hermione and most of the coldness in his look disappeared, leaving only a light frost. "The idea of a divorce is odious to me, as well. However, without breaking the binding, there will be no alliances to anyone else, either. What will you do if someday you come to care for someone and you can't accept their proposal?"

Hermione said nothing; she knew he had a point.

"Can you see the merits of my mother's plan?"

She kept her face as straight as she could, though her pulse was still fluttering excitedly with the aftereffects of her thwarted panic attack. "I do see the merits. It's… legitimate."

Leaning back in his chair, Draco calmly drank his tea as if they were merely discussing the weather instead of something so life-altering as marriage and divorce. "If you still wish to look for an alternative, perhaps we could compromise and set a time frame?"

After a brief internal struggle, she queried, "What's the rush?"

"It isn't that there is a rush, per se. It's more that the future is uncertain," he reasoned. "Preparedness for that uncertainty is a motivating factor. How long do you want that Dark Mark on your arm for?"

Hermione's eyes flickered to the hidden tattoo beneath her sleeve, then rooted her gaze to the table. With a slightly shaking hand, she reached for her teacup and took her first sip. "What did you have in mind?"

Narcissa was sitting back and observing the conversation, her light blue eyes flickering between them.

Setting his teacup down, Draco folded his hands in front of him on the table and leaned forward. "There's one thing I do know for sure about marriage: at its most basic level, it is yoking yourself to another person to form a single unit, and learning to work together with them." He paused, eyeing her. "Though you and I disagree on most things, I have learned that we can work together."

_He's right._ She thought of their prefect patrols, of working on the mandala, and of their stolen moments exploring one another's bodies. This last thought was accompanied by a slight blush which Hermione hoped Draco would attribute to the nearby fire instead of its real cause. But while she harbored a secret crush on Draco, she knew she was not in love with him. What kind of a basis for marriage - even a sham of a marriage - would that be?

"Hermione?"

She snapped back into reality, only to find both Malfoys looking at her expectantly.

_Oh sweet Merlin… he wants an answer!_

Squaring her chin, she argued, "If divorce doesn't work?"

He looked at her frankly for a moment and Hermione felt a second wave of heat warm her cheeks; it was suddenly extremely awkward that Narcissa was present. She imagined waking up every morning next to Draco, bearing his children, seeing a couple of towheaded kids off for their first term at Hogwarts... dying with him. It was extremely overwhelming.

Draco chose his next words carefully, articulating each syllable. "If we are married for a year and a day and divorce becomes a non-option, we can try the Adder's Fork."

"But that's Dark…" she began.

"Yes," he only agreed.

She stared at her tea. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Yes."

There was really nothing romantic about it at all; his mother was sitting right there and the circumstances were less than stellar. But her stomach still did a backflip.

The idea of being married to Draco Malfoy was not something Hermione thought she ever would have to seriously consider, but here she was. In the days that had passed since receiving Narcissa's summons to tea, she had agonized over what she would say to Mrs. Malfoy when she inevitably proposed their marriage. While it was true she had spent time weighing the pros and cons, and flip-flopping back and forth between decisions... Hermione had not prepared for Draco asking her for her decision, himself.

The fact of the matter was, she found him attractive in many ways and had even come to accept this. He was repentant of his past, while also well-mannered and intelligent. He was cunning, clever, direct (for a Slytherin), and understanding when he wished to be. Also to be considered, was the way her body reacted to him; she found him to be handsome, certainly – but there was also a kind of animal magnetism that seemed to have naturally arisen between them.

On the other hand, she was not sure she was ready yet to deal with the reputational consequences of getting close to him publicly. It was difficult enough dealing with the fact that Harry, Ron and Ginny knew she had snogged him. Dealing with her growing feelings for him was already challenging without the added stress of trying to defend their relationship to the entire school.

Would this relationship be a burden no matter what she chose?

She slowly raised her eyes to meet his and was disappointed to find his public mask still in place. It was amazing how he resembled his father when he was expressionless. She prompted, "We would keep it a secret?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"And there would still be some time to continue looking for alternative answers beforehand?"

"Yes."

Slowly, she nodded, "Alright. Yes, Draco, I'll marry you."

Silent until that moment, Narcissa clasped her hands together and finalized, "It's settled! Our estate will draft a legal agreement for when the time comes…"

Hermione glared at her future mother-in-law and warily iterated, "I'd like to look at any document I'm expected to sign with plenty of advance notice."

The other woman waved this away, "Of course, of course…" With a flippant air, she continued, "Naturally, there are several terms to come to agreement on immediately, the first being your conduct toward one another in public."

"We will be keeping it a complete secret," Hermione reminded her blandly.

"Undoubtedly. However, it is likely you both may wish to inform those closest to you. I would like to request that no Weasleys be told of this arrangement. There has been animosity between their family and the Malfoys for generations." She paused a moment, considering, "Mr. Potter, however… I am fine with his knowing of it."

"Fine," Hermione answered, using a good bit of willpower to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. She had already told Ron and Ginny almost everything anyway. Draco glanced at her briefly, but said nothing.

"We will also have to determine when to hold the Bridemeet," Narcissa went on.

Hermione paused, unfamiliar with the term. "What is a Bridemeet?"

With an air of insufferable superiority, the older woman answered, "Traditionally, a witch is invited into her intended's house a week or so before their wedding in order to be formally introduced to her future family."

She blanched. _Go back to Malfoy Manor?_ The torturous memory of Bellatrix's brutal questioning only a handful of months ago echoed from the annals of her mind. Unconsciously, her hand went to her forearm, where the evil witch had carved her favored slur into Hermione's skin.

"I don't think…" she began.

"It is a _necessary_ conference if you want to have any say in the wording of the marriage document," Narcissa interrupted. "Terms are finalized at that time. Additionally, I'm sure Lucius will want to speak with you before you become a Malfoy."

Hermione felt her blood freeze. Her hand fell to her side in disbelief.

_Lucius will want to speak with you before you become a Malfoy._

_...Before you become a Malfoy._

Hermione Malfoy.

Oh. My. God.

"Boxing Day, perhaps," Narcissa contemplated.

"So soon?" Hermione balked.

Draco only nodded, "If we haven't found another viable option by Christmas, yes." Seeing her panicked expression, he looked at her frankly and continued, "Granger, you know as well as I do there's no point in waiting any longer. Can you imagine explaining to your future employer that you're married, but only for another six months? Yes, we are students – but as McGonagall knows our situation already, we don't have to explain ourselves. You can take six months after school to travel, then get divorced and pretend it never happened."

It sounded so cold and business-like when he said it like that, but Hermione knew he was right. Hesitatingly, she agreed, "Alright. Christmas."

Once everything was settled and the tea things cleared away, Narcissa Floo'd back to Malfoy Manor. Wishing to avoid detection, Hermione and Draco Apparated back out onto the main street of Hogsmeade, as the Three Broomsticks was now packed with students seeking warmth from the elements. A few flakes of early snow were falling, dusting Hermione's nose and cheeks where they were exposed over her scarf. A light wind picked up her straightened hair and swirled it around her face, partially obscuring her vision.

The path that led back up to the castle was mostly deserted; the majority of the Hogwarts students in the village were waiting to see if the snow cleared before returning outside. Draco took a moment at the entrance to the school grounds to rearrange his scarf closer to his neck.

"Why didn't you tell your mother about the re-sorting?" Hermione wanted to know.

"My parents do not need to be privy to everything there is to know about me," he answered. A beat. "I watched you when my mother requested you not tell any Weasleys about the predicament."

"Yes?"

His blue-grey eyes fixed onto hers interestedly, "You didn't say anything, though _technically_ you already told them... so it was easy to agree that you not tell any more of them."

"And?" she pushed brazenly.

His trademark smirk slipped onto his features. "I thought you should know, while I appreciate that you're both classically Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, your well-hidden Slytherin is my favorite."

"Oh dear," she giggled nervously. "Why does that make me so uncomfortable?"

The flakes of snow were growing larger, like great wafts of cotton. They sprinkled into Draco's hair and dusted the shoulders of his cloak. Pale, like him, they blended into his platinum locks before melting at the contact. Determining that they really were alone on their way back up to the castle, Draco pulled her aside into a copse of thick evergreen trees; her breath caught at the thought that he must have done so with a purpose in mind.

Tall firs, thick with needles, hedged them into privacy. For a moment, he only stood there, looking uncertain; patiently, she waited.

"I'm not very good with words," he finally cautioned.

"How could I forget?" she whispered. The silence seemed louder than usual, in part because the falling snow quilted any ambient sound. "What are you trying to say?"

Brow furrowing with consternation, he answered, "I don't know."

She chewed her bottom lip. "Draco, I'm really sorry all this happened to us."

Looking surprised, he glanced up at her. "Honestly, Hermione," he said gently, "if it had to happen, there is a very, _very_ short list of people I'd be okay with it being. If it had to be someone, I'm glad it was you."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"What about my blood status?" she prodded, though they had already discussed it before. "Aren't you worried you're going to besmirch your family tree?" A flavor of bitterness had crept into her voice at this last part.

"I'm not my father," he reminded her quietly.

"I know you're not," she told him honestly. He looked away for a moment, eyes fixed on the ground. She wondered what was going through his head. With a small smile, she coaxed, "We're still accomplices, right?"

His ethereal eyes flickered up to her face, his expression serious. "You and I both know it's more than that now."

_This person might be my husband,_ she recalled numbly. In that respect, she knew he was correct. She pointed out, "There might not be a wedding at all if we can find another way out of this mess in the next month and ten days."

He fixed her with a stark look. "What exactly are you afraid of, Granger?"

"I just..." she stammered. "I keep going back to the time you told me… that you didn't think we would make a good match..."

He sighed deeply, "I believe it's called 'saving face'."

"I... had no idea..." she faltered, reaching unconsciously for his hand. Taking both of his in her own, she could feel the cold radiating from his skin.

"I thought if I began treating you the way I should have done all those years, you might eventually come around," he said in an almost-whisper. "Then, one night you showed up in that tunnel off the Quidditch pitch and demanded I return with you to Ravenclaw Tower."

She nodded, trying to warm his frigid fingers. "I remember it."

"I wanted to kiss you that night," he told her truthfully. "But I knew the timing wasn't right."

She smiled at him now. "You did kiss me the next morning in the Stacks."

"The timing still wasn't right," he owned with a shadow of a smile, "but I did it anyway. I have never been a patient person."

"Thank you for sharing that." She gathered her courage like a blanket around her and professed, "I've... had feelings for you for a little while now." Playfully, she added, "When you aren't being a prat, at least."

"Swot," he muttered fondly. Pulling their clasped hands toward him, he gathered her into his arms, leaning in to kiss her softly on the lips. She melted into his embrace, like the snow that touched their skin.

By the time they reached the castle, the bottoms of their cloaks were soaked through and their feet were numb, but they were both hiding grins. These smiles slowly evaporated as they realized they would soon have to face their peers with straight faces. Luckily, it seemed most were still braving their way back from their day in Hogsmeade; they met the tower guardian alone.

The eagle head door-knocker recited, "I can start a war or end one, I can give you the strength of heroes or leave you powerless, I might be snared with a glance, but no force can compel me to stay."

From the way their eyes flickered to one another for the briefest of moments, Hermione thought it clear that Draco knew the answer to the riddle just as well as she did. At the same time, they both seemed to be gauging how awkward it might be to utter the answer...

Hermione soon plucked up the courage. "Love."

The door swung open to admit them to the common room.

...Because one thing was certain: they were not quite there, yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am totally overwhelmed by the response you guys left from the last chapter! Thank you so much. While I may not respond to everyone individually, please know that I appreciate everyone who leaves feedback. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too.
> 
> My beta, I_was_BOTWP, helped out with this chapter in some seriously huge ways, rearranging and moving things so that they made more linear sense and were entirely less awkward. I think she might be magic. All the alpha/beta love.


	34. Purebloods & Bruised Egos

It was a wonderful thing, Hermione decided, that the eighth year girls' dormitory in Ravenclaw Tower was empty when she returned from Hogsmeade, because the panic attack that had threatened her during the meeting with Narcissa overwhelmed her the moment she shut the door. Crookshanks was by her side in a moment, winding himself between her legs – and when she sank to the floor in a fit of tears, he insisted upon making himself a fixture on her unstable lap, despite that it could not have been comfortable for him.

She was unsure how long she had been huddled into a ball against the door, but when Hermione finally came back around to the present, the snow that had clung to her clothing had melted into a thin wet spot on the midnight-blue carpet. She stood – Crookshanks protested with a yowl – and shed her wet things, setting them by the fireplace to dry. After changing into something warm and comfortable, she attempted to thaw her frozen toes by the hearth. This was more to her cat's liking and he soon curled into a furry, ginger wheel by her side, satisfied that his mistress was no longer in distress.

The flames licked upward in flickering tongues of red, orange, and yellow. Mesmerized, Hermione sat on the carpet, soaking in the warmth of the fire as she watched it dance. Occasionally, she stroked her Crookshanks's fur, to which he would respond with a few lazy purrs before drifting back off into slumber.

It was hard to believe she had agreed to marry Draco Malfoy only a couple hours ago, albeit conditionally. Still, it was not as if it would be a _real_ marriage… just a union in name only, a means to an end…

_Honestly, Hermione, if it had to happen... if it had to be someone…_

Lost in reflection, it was unclear how much time had passed before the dormitory door eventually swung open again. Instead of the usual burst of noise and clatter that generally accompanied any combination of the dorm's occupants, the intruder merely stood in the doorway.

Silence, until, "Are you alright, Hermione?"

She turned. "Yes, Daphne, thank you. Did you have a nice time in Hogsmeade?"

"I did."

The door closed behind the statuesque girl and Hermione heard shoes being shed by the door before her friend came and sat beside her in front of the fire. It was a few more moments before either spoke.

"Ron and I have decided to start dating… exclusively."

"That's wonderful," Hermione congratulated genuinely.

"It's, well... I have mixed emotions," the other girl admitted. "It's still a bit of a secret."

"Because of your parents?"

She nodded.

Hermione thought of Draco and his parents. Despite her courageous actions in saving Harry's life the previous May, Narcissa Malfoy had continued to be nothing but proud and elitist. While she had not yet come face-to-face with Lucius, Hermione suspected he would not be pleasant either. Aloud, she wondered, "What's it like being pureblood?"

Daphne shrugged, "It's… just my life. It's how I was raised. My parents made it clear that my brother, sister and I were considered to be higher-class citizens of wizarding Britain because of our blood purity – like aristocracy, I suppose – but otherwise, I had a normal childhood. Some of the old families used to have arranged marriages up until a couple generations ago, but the Greengrasses haven't done that for a century or more." Looking thoughtful, Daphne seemed at a loss. "I don't know how to describe it."

Hermione frowned, "If your family is so contemporary, why would they give you a difficult time about dating Ron? I mean, he's a pureblood too – if you care about such things. The Weasleys are even included in the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

Incredulous, Daphne stared. "You know about the Sacred Twenty-Eight?"

"I read it in a book."

"Well, you are right, the Weasleys technically _were_ a pure bloodline… but they're all considered blood traitors now."

Hermione scoffed, "Surely you don't believe…?"

"Of course I don't," Daphne interrupted swiftly. "Ron's great. Wonderful, even. He makes me feel like being beautiful doesn't matter so much as I once thought it did… like, maybe I'm already beautiful enough. Merlin, that's sappy."

"Yes, it is," Hermione agreed blandly, then observed, "but you haven't been purging."

"It's been over a month."

She praised, "That's wonderful."

The girls fell silent again. It seemed to Hermione that her friend had a glow of her own, just like the dancing flames in the hearth before them.

"Did my eyes deceive me or did I spot you and Draco together in Hogsmeade?"

Her heart seemed to do a somersault in place. Nervously, she lied, "Oh, yes – prefect rounds."

Glancing over her shoulder to be sure the room was still empty, Daphne leaned in closer and questioned, "What were you _really_ doing?"

Taken aback, she repeated, "I told you. We had prefect duties…"

Daphne shook her head, "Padma was on a date of her own today. If the Head Girl didn't have Hogsmeade duties, I'm not sure I believe you did."

Hermione shrugged; despite that both girls were sitting in front of the fireplace, she felt a dagger of cold spike through her.

The former-Slytherin leaned back to survey her friend when she realized no explanation was forthcoming. "It's alright if you don't want to share. I'm not trying to pry into your business, and especially not into his. Draco is very loyal to those he swears his allegiance to, but he also keeps his emotions close to the vest. He can be difficult to read."

_You're not kidding_ , Hermione thought drily.

With a grin, Daphne went on to tease, "I always thought you and _Theo_ had a thing."

Hermione firmly retorted, "I am _not_ interested in Theodore Nott."

Laughing, her friend affirmed, "Don't worry, I know. It's just a surprising friendship, that's all – you and Draco. You _are_ just friends, right? Or is there something more I should know?"

"If you're so worried about Ron not being accepted by your relatively lenient pureblood family, what makes you think the Malfoys would be better at it? Especially for me."

Daphne slid closer to her friend, her eyes wide. "Are you insinuating there _is_ something more between you and Draco?"

"Of course not," Hermione scoffed.

"Right." Daphne looked a little deflated, but also as if she had expected this answer all along. "You're correct, of course. The Malfoys would never allow it. Still, it's a strange friendship… just as strange as me and you being friends, if not more so."

"I don't think our friendship is strange."

Daphne shrugged. "As the Sorting Hat once professed, 'in Slytherin, you'll find your true friends...' The thing is, I'm not convinced of that anymore; I've never been so happy as I've been in Ravenclaw… though Pansy is still making things a bit rough. At least I still have Tracey and Millie…"

Hermione huffed, "I can't believe she's still giving you a hard time."

"Being in Hufflepuff has been hard on Pansy," Daphne half-heartedly defended.

"Nonsense!"

The other girl stared.

"Look at Ron," Hermione continued. "Ron has – I hate to say it – actually been somewhat refined by being in Hufflepuff. Chess and philosophy! Actually doing his homework on his own!" She thought back to the other morning when she had asked about an essay, which he claimed he already finished. She had checked the bracelet the boys had gotten her for her birthday, only to find he was telling the truth. "Not to mention, he's got a girlfriend I actually like for the first time."

Daphne smiled. "It must be true if you say so, since you know him better than anyone, except maybe Potter."

"Is Ron aware of the possibility that your parents will have an issue with the two of you dating?"

"He claims he doesn't care…" Daphne replied, but she looked unsure.

Proudly, Hermione confirmed, "That's Ron. He's always been brave – not the same way Harry is – but a more everyday kind of brave. I'll never forget the end of first year when we were facing off against a giant chess set, and he sacrificed himself for us…"

The door banged open just then, cutting Hermione off. In barged Padma and Sue, who were giggling loudly and making quite a bit of noise.

"I'll tell you later," Hermione promised, since her friend seemed interested in hearing the story. Daphne nodded reluctantly.

" _Oh my Merlin_ , Hermione, Daphne…! You have to hear this story!" Sue insisted.

With another giggle, Padma began, "So Anthony Goldstein and I went to Hogsmeade together today…"

.

.

On Monday, Hermione awoke with a surreal feeling like she had dreamt up the entire weekend. For a few moments, she thought it really had been all her imagination: the meeting with Narcissa, and agreeing to be conditionally engaged to Draco... But when she looked in the mirror at her reflection, Lisa's charm was still working its magic on her hair, and she was forced to concede that it had all been real.

How could she go about her daily routine pretending nothing had changed? It seemed everything was wrong, different. Reality was altered somehow. She waited for her roommates to get up before heading down to breakfast; she was not ready to face the Great Hall alone.

The owl post came shortly thereafter - and to her initial delight, Hermione received the first reply to the multiple inquiries she had sent out to the various alchemists. Nearly knocking over the jug of orange juice in her haste to relieve the tired Oriental Bay Owl from its delivery, she tore open the letter. The bird took off immediately for refreshment in the Owlery.

Her reply was written on paper rather than parchment...

_Dear Miss Granger,_   
_Your unique situation is a most interesting one._   
_As you may not know, the elemental system of alchemy currently taught was initially developed by a Persian, Jabir ibn Hayyan, who stated there were four elements, plus Mercury and Sulfur. Later, a Swiss alchemist named Paracelsus added Salt, based on the model presented by Aristotle._   
_In my native Tibet, the fifth element is known as space. These five primary pranas (to you British, these are vital energies) represent things that are solid (earth), things that are liquid (water), things that destroy (fire), things that move (air), and things not of our everyday life (space)._   
_Your class textbook may be helpful. A return to basic knowledge is likely the key to the reversal of your present discomfort._   
_Ldong-Lga Phuntsok_

Fuming, Hermione crumpled the paper up in frustration and stuffed it roughly into her bookbag. It seemed the Chinese alchemist was determined to be dismissive of her, as if she were a mere child who had dabbled in powers greater than her understanding and did not want to find the answer to her problem herself.

_Your class textbook may be helpful._ As if she had not already consulted innumerable books for the answer!

The words stung her ego, but also made her angry. She supposed she should have expected this might happen, but she had not counted on a contemptuous response. The added history lesson was a supercilious sting.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry greeted happily enough, sliding onto the bench across from her. "Ready for Transfiguration this morning?"

"Not nearly," she scowled, her hopefulness upon receiving her first response having now been replaced by a foul mood.

Harry occupied himself in selecting several pieces of bacon with more care than usual, wary of her simmering temper. She spent much of breakfast outwardly sulking while inwardly, she was still seething over the condescending letter.

After breakfast, Harry and Hermione began the trek upstairs to class. She was still moody and contemplative.

"Hermione," Harry said slowly, "are you alright?"

She sighed, "I'm in a rut, Harry, I'm sorry. It's not fair of me to take it out on you. There's just a lot on my mind."

Harry's gaze, she noticed, flickered immediately to the place on her left forearm where the Dark Mark was hidden by her school robes. "Anything you want to talk about?"

With another sigh, she explained, "I received a letter from one of the alchemists I contacted. He was very dismissive of me… like I was an ignorant child who didn't want to find my own way out of this mess."

A familiar spark that accompanied s challenge lit in Harry's green eyes. "I want to help. Do you want me to go to the library with you later? Two sets of eyes are better than one."

"I can't," she replied with regret. "Padma and Ernie have called a prefects' meeting following dinner and then I have patrol right after."

Harry nodded, "Tomorrow then. How's Malfoy been treating you?"

"Oh – fine," she murmured.

Harry's jaw clenched as if he simply did not believe her; she supposed her reply had not exactly sounded convincing. Just as they reached the Transfiguration classroom door, he warned, "Don't let him take advantage of the situation, Hermione. I don't trust him. But we'll find a way, I promise."

.

.

The fact that Ernie and Padma had chosen that evening for a prefect meeting annoyed Hermione to no end. She had a lot of work she wanted to get done, and she was still obliged to go on patrol afterward. She would not be able to get enough sleep tonight _and_ work on her Potions assignment...

"…Any more ideas on how to keep up student morale?" Padma was saying, but Hermione's mind was wandering to the essay she wished she was writing.

"Another school dance?" a squeaky Hufflepuff sixth year was suggesting hopefully.

The boys in the room groaned. Hermione could not help but privately agree with them, though her attention was still firmly fixed on Potions. _What do I already know about a mandrake restorative drought? Other than the obvious, with what happened with that basilisk in second year, of course…_

"Maybe we could host a fair…" a Gryffindor fifth year put in, sounding unsure.

Dean Thomas added, "Or start some new clubs?"

_Ironically_ , Hermione thought, _that book I took from the restriction section to learn about Adder's Fork would probably be helpful in learning about the exact effects of a basilisk's stare..._

"Hermione? You look like you're displeased with all of the suggestions we've made so far."

Her head snapped up to discover the entire room now had its attention on her. Ernie, who had just spoken, was looking at her expectantly.

"Oh! Um, no," she stammered. "I just… sorry, my mind wandered for a moment…"

She colored, knowing it was unlike her to be caught not paying attention. For the briefest of moments, her eyes flickered to Draco, who sat across the room. True to their agreement of continuing to keep things between them a secret, they had not acknowledged one another when they arrived to the meeting. Actually, they had not spoken all day, despite having all their classes together. Now, his mask was firmly in place and he was surveying her with the rest of the prefects, but with a lazy little smirk on his lips.

"Does anyone have anything useful to put in?" Padma continued, glossing over the minor indiscretion. "It's great to have ideas, but we need to know how to implement them, too…"

It was a relief when the meeting was over, though Hermione's heart had begun fluttering irregularly, the closer the time drew to patrol. The idea of being alone with Draco again for three hours…

"Hermione? Can you stay back a moment, please?"

Her head snapped up and she paused in gathering her things to see Ernie looking at her expectantly. "Oh, of course."

Draco cast her a swift gaze as he exited, his eyes flickering from her to the Head Boy for the briefest of moments.

Once the other prefects had left them alone, Ernie crossed the room toward her and apologized, "I'm sorry I singled you out. I didn't realize you weren't listening to the meeting. You really did look like you were thinking about a better idea you had, and, well… usually your ideas are spot on."

"Thanks, Ernie, but I should have been paying attention. You and Padma wouldn't have called a meeting if you didn't have something important to tell us."

The Head Boy shifted uncomfortably and his eyes darted to the door as if to be sure it was still securely shut. "Er, yes, of course... but, well, there _was_ a second reason to call a meeting…"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"Please hear me out: I wanted to find an opportunity to be alone with you for just a moment. You're… I think you're a captivating person." Ernie's face was flushed, but he seemed determined to speak his mind. "I was wondering if you would permit me to take you out sometime?"

"Oh!"

Prone as he was to speech-making, Hermione hoped Ernie might fill the awkward silence with more words, as it would at least have given her time to think about an answer to such an unexpected question. Instead, he was staring at her with a mixture of both hopefulness and preparation for total humiliation.

"Ernie, that's very sweet, but…"

He held up his hand and hastily interrupted, "No need to finish whatever you were going to say, I know a forthcoming rejection when I hear one."

She stared awkwardly back at him, her mouth clamped shut.

"I just figured I'd try," he explained, looking conscious of the tension between them now. "I know you went with Rivers to Halloween, but everyone could see it didn't end in anything, and he's recently started dated Dextra Thias from seventh year. I asked him about it and he told me you were hung up on Ron Weasley – who I personally witnessed with Daphne Greengrass having a rather intimate moment at Hogsmeade. I asked Ginny Weasley about it all the same, and she laughed in my face when I suggested her brother might still be dating you, or that you were even interested in him. I can only assume that means you had to turn Rivers down by using your ex as an excuse."

"Ron is my _friend_ , not my ex," Hermione corrected, a latent annoyance gathering in her voice. It still boggled her how overexposed her brief, summer romance with Ron had been, even given how often they had been in the papers after the fall of Voldemort.

He waved this away, "Be that as it may, my point is: you seemed available, and I thought I'd take a chance."

An awkward silence ensconced them for a moment. To break it, she put in, "I hope this doesn't affect us working together as prefect and Head Boy."

Ernie immediately resumed the pompous, public face he generally wore (fascinated, Hermione realized, _He has a mask, too, just like Draco…_ ), and answered in his usual bombastic voice, "Of course not. Professionalism is a virtue." Seeming to realize there was nothing further to be said, he gathered his things and bid, "Have a good evening, Granger."

A moment later, he swept from the room.

Stunned, Hermione was rooted to the floor where she stood. Everything had happened so quickly! She was glad to be alone for a few minutes to collect her thoughts.

Eventually, she roused herself and realized that everyone had fled the room without cleaning up after the meeting. With a few flicks of her wand, she tidied up some wet footprints from those who had come there from the greenhouses, shuttered the windows, and turned off the lights. Finished now, she closed the door behind her…

…And nearly bumped into Draco, who was leaning against the wall right beside the door.

"For Agrippa's sake!" she cried in surprise when she realized they were only a few inches apart. "What are you still doing here?"

Malfoy did not acknowledge her question at all, instead locking her into a cold, blank gaze. He stated, "Macmillan asked you out."

She fidgeted at the very recent memory. "Oh, um, yes, he did."

"What did you say?"

"Didn't you overhear?"

"No."

"Oh." She paused. "Then how did you know?"

"I didn't need to eavesdrop to know, Granger," Draco snapped brusquely, "Head Bloke has been planning to ask you out for a few weeks now. Then he asked you to stay behind. It made sense."

His annoyance seemed to be making no effort at subtlety, which was unusual for him. Hermione knew she could answer him one of two ways: she could get angry, or she could be dismissive. Anger certainly would be the Gryffindor route of things – how many times had her temper exploded on Ron over the years? – but before she even made a conscious decision, she found herself utilizing the second option.

With a smirk, she tantalized, "Are you sure you didn't stay behind to try to talk me out of going on a date with Ernie?"

"Granger," he hissed warningly, "what did you _say_?"

"To whom?" she queried innocently.

"To Macmillan, _obviously_ , witch!"

"Relax, you grump, I'm not interested in Ernie," she assured him coyly. She would swear she noticed his shoulders visibly relax. "Anyway, why do you care?"

In the blink of his eye, it was like he had thrown his hackles back up. "You've got to be kidding me… _why do I care_?"

"Draco..." she tried.

His gray-blues were the eyes of twin storms over the sea. "As we have entered into a mutual agreement, I don't think it's too much to ask you to forgo dating others while we're involved."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, "You want me to stop dating altogether?"

"I didn't think that needed to be specified," he informed her snidely. "Do Muggles not practice fidelity during engagements?"

"You realize how incredibly rude that is, of course," she fumed, unable to keep up her dismissive attitude now that he had reverted to slighting Muggles.

"Save it, Granger. You're the one doing _this_ to yourself," he picked up some of the soft honeyed strands of hair Lisa had straightened for her, "like you're trying to attract someone else. Don't we have enough to be getting on with, without you throwing some ponce of a boyfriend into the mix?"

"What's wrong with my hair being straightened?" she demanded.

" _Don't_ try to tell me you haven't noticed you get looked at more when you do that. I won't believe you."

She really had not noticed. "That's…! The entire notion is completely ridiculous!"

He brushed a few flyaway strands of hair from her face and in a dangerously silky voice replied, "Is it?"

Hermione crossed her arms and batted his hand away – this only seemed to amuse him, as a cat is amused when a mouse tries to flee from its imminent demise. "Look, I didn't know Ernie was going to ask me out. I don't even really talk to him all that much…"

"He and Rivers used to talk about _you_ \- often," he revealed, eyeing her closely. "At one point, one of them definitely had a dream about you, because I heard him say your name in the middle of the night..."

"You didn't!" she protested, taking a step backward in disgust and horror.

"I'd bet five galleons it was Rivers – no, make that ten, and I'll eat them in front of Weasley if I'm wrong."

"You're arrogant and insufferable and… and I don't believe you!"

"As I told you before, I really don't sleep most nights..."

"Perhaps you're a vampire," she sneered.

"I'm not joking, Granger."

"Of course you're not joking," she snapped, "you wouldn't know a joke if it danced naked in front of you wearing only a tea cozy!"

This was the final straw that broke the tension between them. Instead of responding, Draco seized her and maneuvered her back into the dark, empty classroom she had just come out of.

Pushing her against the hard stone of the wall, there was an edge of roughness in his touch that made her shiver. Despite this, she elicited a whisper of, "Yes..."

He claimed her mouth, one hand grasping her forearm and twisting it away by the wrist, pinning it above her head; he restrained her other wrist along with the first. Swiftly moving to her neck, he began to kiss her fiercely. With his free hand, he cupped her breast and kneaded it.

"We shouldn't… in here…" she managed to get out.

He was trying to yank her shirt over her head - a task made more difficult by the fact that he still had her pinned by the wrists. Hermione had never seen him this feral or confident before. It both frightened and excited her.

Draco growled into her neck; the vibrations shivered through her entire body, "Watch me."

"Someone… will see…" she insisted, but was silenced when his mouth crushed against hers again and he finally tugged her uniform shirt free, leaving her top half covered in only her cotton camisole.

"You are _mine_ ," he insisted, "at least for now."

Something seemed to have possessed Draco and replaced him with a fiend; Hermione could feel visceral lust rolling off of him in waves.

"Say it," he growled, even as he was kissing her collarbone and down into the curve of her breast.

"Yes," she breathed again. She could feel her skin tingling all over her body. Her inner thighs burned with heat, wanting him.

"Say it."

"Yours," she caved as his teeth grazed a tendon in her neck and made her whimper. "For now."

With a low rumble, he took her mouth again, kissing her with reckless abandon. She matched him in fervor as she gave in to his onslaught, still restrained but no longer caring about it. His hand slid one of her camisole straps down her shoulder...

Without warning, the classroom door swung open and a voice cursed violently from the doorway, "In the name of _Merlin's saggy ballsack_ …!"

Hermione gasped in horror as Draco flew back from her. She covered her arms across her chest and turned her head to see Ron in the doorway, his face twisted into an expression of the utmost disgust. Harry stood a few steps behind him, a large parchment clutched in one hand and his wand in the other, closing his horrified eyes as if trying to banish the image of the two of them from his mind.

"I may have to rinse my eyes with bleach," Harry muttered.

Hermione felt her cheeks go hot with humiliation while her eyes darted frantically around for her uniform shirt so she could cover herself. Ron's look of revulsion burned her cheeks with shame; Harry's expression at witnessing the moment seemed to be that of a martyr.

"Nobody… and I _do_ mean _nobody_ wants to see that," Ron clarified in disgust, unable to look her in the eyes.

"Was there something you needed, boys?" she queried, pulling her button-down shirt on and purposely not making eye contact with any of the three wizards in the room. Draco was silent.

"Harry noticed you were here alone with _this_ git. We weren't going to do anything originally, but we heard noise coming from in here that sounded like a struggle, and we wanted to make sure you were alright," Ron explained, jabbing his thumb in Draco's direction.

Without warning, his face twisted into a livid snarl and he marched up directly to Malfoy, standing in front of his nemesis with his arms folded and glaring at him, not saying a word. Draco was pretending to look casually bored, while also ignoring Ron, and almost succeeding.

"You watch your step, Malfoy," Ron threatened quietly. "That's essentially my sister you're manhandling."

Draco was tall, but Ron was taller and the extra five inches of height made him intimidating when he wanted to be. Hermione noticed Draco straighten his back and lift his proud chin to give him leverage; he had a way of looking down his nose at someone in a way that made them feel small. He did this now. "Your threat is duly noted, Weasley, though unnecessary."

Hermione turned to Harry, who still appeared slightly nauseous, and pointed out, "You had no business stalking me like that. It does not make me feel safe, it makes me feel invaded… and I can take care of myself. As you well know."

"I've been worried," he defended firmly. His eyes flickered to Draco, then back to his friend. "You seemed as if you'd lost hope this morning. I didn't want you to rush into something reckless."

"You already knew I was snogging him!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

" _That_ was not snogging," Ron interjected.

"Quiet, Ron."

"Which is why we weren't planning on saying anything, at first," Harry insisted quickly, still appearing to have a difficult time meeting her eye. "But like Ron said, we heard what sounded like a struggle."

"And just how _did_ you find out where we were, Harry?" she fumed, already suspecting she knew the answer.

Draco spoke up, "Has Potter has been using that map of his to follow you around?"

Quietly, Harry asked, "You told him about the map, Hermione?"

"No," she retorted. "It was the truth-compelling powder."

Anger reddened Ron's cheeks, "Are you saying Ferret Face, here, dosed you with Veritaserum?"

" _No_ , Ron… that is not what I am saying."

"Sure sounds like it…"

"Please, just let me explain," she sighed. "When Draco and I were in Ravenclaw's study, we came across it and I accidentally got some on myself – it made me reveal a few secrets, one of which happened to be the existence of the map. I'm sorry, but it couldn't be helped."

Ron and Harry both seemed to have heard this, but neither responded. Ron stalked away from Draco as Harry simultaneously drew closer.

Standing in front of his old rival, Harry's arms were crossed as he acknowledged, "Malfoy."

"Potter."

Harry stared at the other man for a moment; their old animosity crackled between them. "Don't you dare take advantage of her. The whole of wizarding Britain is familiar with the social situation your family is in."

The mild threat surprised Hermione for a reason she could not put her finger on, at first. A moment later, she realized it was because she would have expected that to be the sort of thing Ron would have said, rather than Harry.

Begrudgingly, Draco responded, "I would never intentionally bring harm to Granger."

"Like hell you wouldn't," Ron spat from across the room.

"Ron," Hermione warned, glaring at him to shut up. She turned to Harry and pointedly interrupted, " _Harry_ , I can take care of myself."

"Right, because you're doing such a fantastic job of that," Ron sneered. "Even if you _think_ Malfoy's changed, old habits die hard… and his sliminess is in his _blood_."

"Oh, get out," she snapped. "Both of you!"

"Us!" Ron stormed, "What about _him_?"

"Draco and I have patrol."

"That didn't look like patrol to me," Ron answered darkly.

Neither of the boys had moved. Harry continued speaking to Draco as if no outburst had occurred. "Hermione is like the sister I never had, Malfoy. I'm keeping an eye on you both."

"How you were re-sorted into Slytherin, I'll never understand," Draco drawled. "The subtlety you frequently exhibit is on par with a rampaging gorilla in a tea shop."

"I'm not going for subtlety, I'm openly warning you."

Draco sneered, "Consider me warned."

"Then," Harry concluded, "see you around, Malfoy. Let's go, Ron."

With a last scathing look that bounced from Draco to Hermione, Ron stalked from the room.

Harry approached his friend, clapped a hand on her shoulder and muttered, "Be careful." Then he, too, disappeared, leaving Draco and Hermione alone once again.

"I'm sorry about that," Hermione apologized uncomfortably. "I'm sure they meant well. The fault was in the execution..."

"Friends don't stalk one another," her wizard pointed out.

Hermione did not have a response to that.

Though she was still crimson with embarrassment, the boys had raised at least one question that had been nagging her all along: was she being taken advantage of? _Surely not_ , she scoffed inwardly. _I profit from this in the same way the Malfoys do._

Nonetheless, she squared her chin and asked, "I need to know: why me? Why now?"

But Draco had no answer for her. "A discussion for another time. I don't fancy being on patrol until midnight - let's go."

The evasion of a real answer abraded her and though she and Draco did not speak much on patrol, her mind was spinning...

_I thought if I began treating you the way I should have done all those years, you might eventually come around..._

_You are mine... at least for now... say it._

"Good night, Granger," he bid coldly once they returned to Ravenclaw Tower.

"Good night, Malfoy."

They parted ways without another word. She automatically changed into her pajamas once she reached the dormitory.

"Long patrol?" Padma yawned in greeting, already half-asleep.

_You have no idea_ , Hermione thought as she got into bed, not in the least bit tired.

She lay awake for some time, her mind a tumult of confusion. How could she give more than she already had to someone like Draco? And if she did, would it ruin her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, you guys. I'm entirely overwhelmed by your response to this. Thank you so, so, so, SO much.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter. Any mistakes are my own.


	35. Serendipity

"Partner me?"

Draco's eyes flicked up from his cauldron to discern the towering, olive-skinned figure of Daphne Greengrass standing before him. She held her Potions textbook to her chest and was staring down at at him, waiting for an answer.

"Not going to partner one of your dorm-mates?" he questioned, moving his bookbag to make space for her. "You seem to have grown close to them."

The statuesque girl shook her head and deposited her things on her half of the table, "I haven't spoken to you much recently."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, "You're speaking to me right now."

"You know what I mean…"

"Are you sure you aren't sitting here because of this morning? Don't want to deal with the others?"

Daphne subtly shuddered; a less observant person might not have noticed, but being naturally shrewd, Draco certainly did. Shifting uneasily, she queried, "You heard about that?"

" _Everyone_ heard about that," he confirmed, flipping open to the correct page of the textbook. Propping it up beside their cauldron, he added, "You make bemusing choices in beaux, Greengrass."

It did not escape Draco's notice that his work partner's eyes flicked up to rest on Ron Weasley sitting two tables ahead of them, before roving over to a particularly bushy-haired witch sitting at a table to the Weasley's right. Why Daphne should be glancing at Granger at that moment was intriguing, if a bit worrisome.

He had not spoken to Hermione since Monday night. It was now Wednesday afternoon and it was becoming more and more difficult to avoid catching her eye. He knew they needed to talk, but it was difficult to overcome his pride and be the one to approach her... especially as he had been so dismissive of her before.

Daphne sighed deeply. They began setting up for the potion they were meant to be brewing, selecting the correct ingredients from their satchels or the store cupboard. Once they were finally ready to go and Professor Slughorn gave the signal to begin, she continued their previous conversation as if nothing had interrupted it, bemoaning, "I thought Pansy was my friend…"

"Slytherins don't have friends," Draco pointed out, beginning to peel some daisy root according to the potion's instructions. "They have accomplices."

His companion reached for some willow bark and set about shredding it. "We're Ravenclaws now, Draco. I've put Slytherin behind me…"

"You can bet Parkinson hasn't put it behind her," he countered. "You probably wounded her pride when you stood up for her."

"They were bullying her! They called her easy!"

"Because she _is_ easy," he drawled, "and it doesn't bother her that people know, either. She draws power from it."

"That's silly," Daphne scoffed. "Besides, that wasn't all they said. They told her the only reason she got put in Hufflepuff was because they have to 'take the lot' and she didn't belong anywhere else!"

"You must admit, that is somewhat amusing..."

The incident in question had occurred during breakfast that morning. A few seventh year students had come upon Pansy Parkinson outside the Great Hall and begun catcalling her and making lewd remarks. Pansy, to her credit, was attempting to ignore them with the same haughty disdain she projected into most aspects of her life, when Daphne had rushed to her friend's defense, casting a Stinging Hex at the boys' ankles and causing them to scatter.

"She didn't have to call me a blood traitor..." Daphne murmured in a small voice as she continued to shred her willow bark.

"I'm not sure what you expected her to say when she found out you were dating the Weasel King," Draco answered matter-of-factly, sliding his perfectly peeled daisy roots into the cauldron.

"His name is _Ron_ , so I'll thank you to keep that childish nickname in the past where it belongs," Daphne reprimanded with renewed vigor. She added her prepared bark to the cauldron and began measuring out some essence of murtlap. "Anyway, I'm not even sure how Pansy found out. It was meant to be a secret… now the whole school seems to know."

"The secret that wasn't," Draco remarked as he pretended to puzzle over the instructions in the textbook.

In reality, he was observing Granger a few tables ahead.

Her hair had already become a nightmare from the heat and fumes being created in the dungeon, and yet, Draco really didn't like it any other way. He had always expected it to be coarse and ratty but in actuality, it was quite soft; he had been surprised the first time he touched it. Today, she had attempted to contain her locks by trapping them in a haphazard bun, but new wisps already seemed to be plotting their escape in addition to the ones sticking up every which way. At her table, Hermione's fingers were flying about with energy as she chopped something up in preparation for adding it to her cauldron.

Meanwhile, Daphne continued, "It was all over the school by lunch! I was planning to wait to tell my parents about Ron until I could do it in person. Now I suppose I'll have to write them before they find out some other way. I'm sure they'll have a good deal to say to me."

Draco's eyes flickered back to his own table and he busied himself with divesting a stalk of sage of its leaves. In his usual sarcastic drawl, he answered, "If only you hadn't tried to defend the persecuted…"

"I don't know what made me curse those boys teasing her," Daphne admitted. Then, with a secret smile, she slyly added, "I guess it was your witch's influence. She's always doing things like that."

Draco's fingers fumbled on the sage branch. He attempted to quickly collect himself, but he was not smooth enough.

"Ha! Confirmed!" Daphne crowed.

Shooting her the dirtiest look he could muster, Draco attempted to deny the accusation. "Not everyone in this bloody school is harboring a secret romance, Greengrass."

"But some of us _are_ ," she replied triumphantly. Plucking the branch of sage directly from his hands, Daphne looked Draco in the eye and whispered, "I think it's brilliant – the two of you."

"What in Merlin's name are you on about?" he demanded angrily, snatching the sage back and scooting away from her. He was hyper aware of the fact that his cheeks felt warm.

"I've been piecing things together for weeks now," Daphne all but sang. Then she lowered her voice so as not to be overheard, "But it wasn't until this past weekend that I finally got confirmation. I saw you two together in Hogsmeade, but when I asked Hermione about it, she tried to claim you'd been given prefect duties…"

"We had," he insisted, desperately hoping that the noise of the dungeon would cloak their conversation. There was generally quite a bit of commotion during Potions, which made it a good time to have conversations like this – though truly, Draco did not want to be having this conversation at all.

Daphne wagged her finger at him, "You scoundrel... none of the other prefects had duty."

Draco fell silent, face burning; he wished he were anywhere else but beside a gloating Daphne Greengrass in the Potions dungeon.

"Not to worry: I won't tell a soul, if that's what you wish," she continued, beginning to shell some Sopophorous beans for the potion. "I do have some questions however, and I want you to tell the truth."

Draco stared at the table, now feeling a tad queasy. Evasively, he replied, "Honesty is an expensive gift."

"I don't expect it from cheap people," she assured him. He met her with silence, which seemed to be all the encouragement she needed to ask, "How did you get involved with her, of all people?"

He remained silent, instead pretending to be minutely focused on fiddling with the intensity of the flame beneath their cauldron.

"Malfoy?"

"I did not promise you honesty, nor did I promise directness. You may ask me a question which I may not be at liberty to answer. Not all of my secrets are mine alone."

A witch who had not spent seven years as a Slytherin might not have accepted his answer, but Daphne honored it. "Alright then, but I have to know why it's some great secret. Surely you would only gain from making your relationship with her public knowledge?"

"Perhaps there is no relationship at all," he sneered.

"Nuh-uh, Romeo, you don't get to deflect like that. Surely you realize you managed to snag one of the most sought-after witches in the entire school… what are you afraid of?"

Draco said nothing.

"Mummy and daddy?" she queried. "Because that's me, too. We could band together to stand up to them. I bet we aren't even the only purebloods who…"

"Greengrass," he interrupted suddenly. "Leave it be."

She did. Perhaps Daphne recognized the finality in his voice, because the next time she spoke, it was to recount something amusing Blaise had told her the previous evening.

By the end of their double-block of Potions, Draco and Daphne had successfully brewed a potion for healing severe burns and handed in their result for credit. As they cleaned up their station, Draco began to feel a prickling sensation on the back of his scalp as though someone were watching him.

He glanced up – only to find he had been right. Hermione's hair was positively wild from the heat the cauldrons had given off, but she paid this no mind. Their eyes met; she offered him a small smile before turning back to her table to clear up.

He could not help it: Draco's stomach did a small somersault... just as it always did when Hermione Granger smiled at him.

"Ready to go?" Daphne queried.

Without responding, Draco headed for the door and made his way into the corridor beyond. While he was more than ready to face Granger and put Monday night behind them both, he was less eager to be caught somewhere with Potter or Weasley.

He vaguely registered Daphne tagging along after him on their way back to Ravenclaw Tower. How could Greengrass ask why he and Granger were keeping their relationship a secret when there had been such an uproar in the rumor mill following her own public outing? The Weasleys, despite everything else they were known for, were at least purebloods. Draco shuddered to think what people would say if they knew about Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy together. Even worse was what might be said to Hermione about him… his past…

_Yours. For now._

He allowed a small smirk to curl his lips at the memory, nonetheless.

.

.

Sometimes, for no apparent reason, Draco was kept awake by paranoia. Tonight was no exception; he was jumpy and strung-out. His fingers shook with need for the cigarette he was denying himself.

_I shudder to think what you're doing to my lungs by smoking your cigarettes._

He thought of Hermione's face twisted into an unpleasant expression at the idea of him smoking. Draco had never met someone who cared about his smoking in relation to his health. Even his father smoked cigars and his mother only disliked the smoke because of the smell.

_It's bad enough we have to share everything else, but I am not getting lung cancer because of you!_

Glancing to the clock, he determined it was still before midnight but just barely. Macmillan's violent snoring ricocheted through the dormitory while light breathing coming from the other two beds indicated both Blaise and Rivers were also asleep.

Bones creaking and tendons aching, Draco swung his legs over the side of his four-poster and sat up. For a moment, he hesitated. Then, in annoyance, he reached for his wand and his half-empty pack of cigarettes. Fastening his cloak under his chin, he cast a quiet warming charm on himself before silently stealing from the dormitory.

The common room was empty, rendering his escape easy. He made for his usual balcony off the fifth floor near the base of Ravenclaw Tower.

The fresh, crisp air stung his skin and a slight wind lifted his hair. Though he had intended to indulge in a cigarette, a sense of guilt had slowly crept through his conscience as he had descended the tower stairs. By the time he made it onto the balcony, he had already lost interest in smoking despite that his fingers were still visibly shaking.

"Draco?"

A glow of cold light at the far end of the balcony accompanied the querying voice and made him turn. To his astonishment, he realized he had not even noticed Hermione there. She was curled up with her arms around her knees in the corner, wrapped snugly in a thick, tartan blanket. A jar full of bluebell flames – something Draco had come to associate distinctly with her – had been enchanted to float nearby.

Coolly playing off his surprise, he acknowledged, "It's cold out here, Granger. You should be inside where it's warm."

"Hermione," she corrected softly, with emphasis. She did not get up. Draco could not help but think that despite the eruption of curls flying about her arms and shoulders - or perhaps, at least in part, _because_ of it - she was beautiful. "It's cold for you, too."

He shrugged, leaning on the balcony railing and turning to look out over the school grounds. The moon seemed to be trying to make up for the long, dark nights that characterized a Scottish November; in the distance, the Black Lake glistened, glazed with ice. Beside the lake, Draco imagined he could see the weeping willow by which he had inexplicably tied himself to the remarkable witch now near him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, somewhat more harshly than he intended.

"Hoping you would turn up. We need to talk," she answered earnestly.

He did not answer. He knew it was true.

"The other night I asked you a question which you refused to answer."

_I need to know: why me? Why now?_

"I remember," he said curtly.

"It would really hurt me if you didn't answer that question at all," she told him. "I've been thinking of little else since Monday."

Draco scoffed, "How can you be hurt by a non-answer?"

"When a person tells you that you are hurting them, you don't get to decide that you aren't," she pointed out indignantly.

It took some effort to remove the scowl from his face, but Draco hoped he managed it alright. He released a deep breath from his nostrils and admitted, "You're right."

She waited, her chocolate brown eyes watching him warily from the other side of the narrow balcony.

After a few moments' thought, he began, "Do you remember the evening you were going to a party in the Slytherin common room?"

She nodded, pulling her blanket around herself a little more snugly as a chill breeze swept by, ruffling her hair.

"You will also recall Theo leaving us alone on this very balcony?"

She nodded again.

Emboldened by the fact that he had already begun speaking of it, the rest came out in a flood: "That wasn't an accident. Many of Nott's… abilities… had already been tested over the summer. It was an important time for him: he became the head of his household when his father died, and shortly after that, he had his coming-of-age birthday. Two weeks before term began, he told me that you and I would be married someday."

Quietly, Hermione asked, "Did you believe him?"

With a dark chuckle, Draco answered, "No. I didn't think it was possible for someone like me and someone like you to have a successful relationship. I didn't even _know_ you… not really… and I'd always detested you."

Casting her eyes downward at the ugly tartan blanket she was wrapped in, Draco would have given much to know what was running through her head at that moment.

"So," he continued, "on September the first, I merely observed you. It was curiosity more than anything, brought on by Theo, who was determined to befriend and get to know you. It did not take me long to begin questioning why I'd always considered you distasteful in the first place..."

She looked back up, an eyebrow titled in apparent curiosity.

"...The obvious answer, was because of a prejudice I no longer had. With that out of the way, I could assess you properly at last."

"What did you discover?" she puzzled.

Draco shrugged, both wishing he had a cigarette in his hands and thankful that he did not. "Not much at first. Everyone already knew you were intelligent - a giant swot, actually - including myself. Our prefect patrols taught me the existence of your razor-sharp wit. Then… do you remember the morning you bumped into me outside the baths?"

She nodded again that she did.

"There was something about you that morning that made me realize you're… attractive."

Hermione snorted in derision, "Seriously?"

"Seriously, Granger. It was the first time I'd ever noticed – but it put me on my guard even more, because by my estimation, I then considered you intelligent, witty and attractive."

She closed her mouth on the teasing reply she no doubt had ready, and Draco was pleased to notice a slight blush had crept onto her cheeks.

"Then, I learned you'd been sneaking around after hours. Instead of bothering me, I found I admired you more for being able to know how to walk the line between duty and achieving your own ends. Suddenly, you had a kind of power over me - and I didn't like it, but I was powerless to do anything about it. The truth was, I admired you."

"Just like that?" she queried.

He confirmed, "Just like that."

She stared at him for a long moment as if she could determine if he were telling the truth by doing so. Then, she scooted over a bit on the balcony floor and opened her blanket in invitation, to make space for him beside her. Draco hesitated a moment, then set his pride aside to join her. As she closed it around them, they shared a companionable - if somewhat awkward - silence. Taking a chance, Draco reached toward her and pulled her in toward him so her back was resting against his front. Emboldened when she immediately snuggled into him, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I can pinpoint the exact moment I began admiring you," she told him matter-of-factly. "It happened in class one day, not long ago. I ended up sitting directly behind you. I kept thinking about the mandala and being tied to you, when it hit me."

He said nothing, though Draco's mind was busy at work processing what she had told him.

_Yours. For now._

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

She fidgeted beside him before querying, "Do you remember the conversation McGonagall had with us on the carriage ride back from Hogsmeade? About how we should abstain…?"

"From sex?" he finished for her. Sarcastically, he drawled, "How could I forget?"

"Well, I just wondered… that is, I thought…" she struggled. "You're a virgin, too, right?"

"Hence, the unicorn," he drawled, feeling foolish without knowing exactly why.

Fidgeting against him again, Hermione affirmed, "I just don't want to rush into anything we aren't sure of. We may end up married, it's true, but I'd prefer if we allowed this relationship to follow its natural course."

"Are you proposing we don't have sex?" he queried. "I thought you enjoyed what we did."

"I did," she said quickly.

Too quickly. An amused smirk graced his lips.

"I _do_ ," she amended. "I just don't want to rush things. Your mother made it perfectly clear that this would be a marriage in name only. I'm also nervous about the alchemist's warning - and since we are planning to divorce in a year, it might be prudent to hold off on anything more."

She was rambling now, but Draco was loathe to interrupt her, wanting to know where she was going with this train of thought. She had clearly been thinking on this for some time now.

"My mother taught me that saving my virginity for my future husband was not really necessary, but preferable… and, well, you wouldn't really be my husband, except in name... so there's no need to jump into anything… right?"

"Granger, I promise you this: I will treat you with the utmost respect, even if it means abstaining from some of the more fun marital activities because you aren't ready," he agreed easily, though he still felt a few errant pangs of remorse ricochet through him as he did. "We have a good thing going and it happened because we wanted it to, not because someone instructed us. I don't want to ruin... this thing... in its infancy."

_Salazar's Snakes, did I just admit we have a thing?_

But she was already nodding, as if his answer had pleased her, so he said no more. They both descended into silence once more.

"Do you remember first year," she spoke after a few moments, "when we had to serve detention by going into the Forbidden Forest at night after a wounded unicorn?"

Though he was secretly glad for the change in topic, Draco snorted - he _certainly_ recalled that night, though it had been years ago now. "What bollocks that was. Who sends first years after a wounded magical creature in a dangerous forest at night?"

"Total bollocks," she agreed and though he could not see it, Draco could picture the accompanying smile. Sobering, she added, "Who knew unicorns would play such an important role in our lives?"

Thoughtful, Draco mustered the courage to ask what he really wanted to know: "Hermione – honestly, what do you consider to be our odds of overcoming this without marriage?"

"Short of Dark Magic or the improbable, it would have to be something we haven't yet considered. I haven't given up, yet."

"Is it so bad? The thought of being married to me?"

Twisting her torso so she could look him in the eye, she clarified, "It isn't the thought of marriage that is odious to me, it's the divorce."

"I see." He didn't, really - not entirely.

"To speak the truth," she opined, "I think we're both acting like there's a lot less emotion between us than there really is."

Draco's stomach did a familiar somersault. "An apt observation."

"Why is that, do you think?"

It was difficult for Draco to keep his wits about him with worried eyes the color of warm espresso staring into his. Reaching out to brush a volume of hair from her face, he answered, "Fear of the unknown, most likely."

She raised her chin haughtily to better meet his eye and proclaimed, "I don't fear the unknown."

"No," he agreed. His fingers danced down her neck and collarbone, brushing her ribcage where he traced the place he knew the lightning-like purple bruise of a scar was, a mirror of the one on his own body. "It's another thing I admire about you."

Somewhat mollified, her expression softened and she batted his fingers away, "That tickles."

An evil grin spread across Draco's lips, "Oh, really…?"

"Draco…"

"…Excellent."

" _Mercy_!" she gasped as he descended upon her, tickling her ribcage relentlessly. "Oh, you just wait until I get my hands on you, Draco Malfoy!"

She never did. Though neither was exactly sure how it happened, they were soon laid out on the balcony floor snogging. The jar of bluebell flames floated unnoticed above them while Hermione's thick blanket became wrapped around the twist of their entwined bodies.

It was not the kind of frenzied kissing that had characterized all of their recent liplocks. This was almost lazy and seemed to go on for ages, the kind of kissing you engaged in with someone you cared about very much. This was not lost on Draco; he hoped Hermione realized it, too.

It was unclear how much time had passed when they had finally done and were merely laying on their sides by one another with Hermione's back pressed into Draco's front. A smile adorned her lips as he twisted one of her curls around her finger and pressed a light kiss to her the curve of her ear.

Hermione spoke up, "Where do we go from here, Draco?"

"That is something I ask myself every day."

She twisted her head to look at him, "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, he only fell silent and his hand dropped from her tangle of curls.

"Draco?" she prompted, turning entirely around now so she could scrutinize him again. "What do you mean?"

He was looking out at the star-studded night sky when he answered, "Do I go left, where nothing is right? Or do I go right, where nothing is left? I can never seem to decide."

"You have to keep going straight ahead," she deduced logically, "because the way you're talking, it sounds as if you plan to go backward and you certainly can't do that."

Shaking his head slightly, he iterated, "No matter what I do, the events of my past will always haunt my present."

"Draco, I want you to listen to what I'm about to tell you," Hermione entreated earnestly. "Your past _does_ have some rather unsavory things in it, I'll admit – but you can't cling to a mistake simply because you spent a lot of time making it. One day you'll just be a memory to some people; you have to do your best to be a good one."

He chuckled. "Doesn't it get rather tiring, being so optimistic all the time?"

"Draco," she warned seriously.

"Oh, I listened," he assured her, pulling her back into an embrace. "I'll even think about it further – but later."

This appeared to be an alright compromise to Hermione, because she resumed snuggling into him and replied, "We don't have to go anywhere yet, right?"

"We can stay here until dawn if that is what you wish."

They did not actually stay until dawn, but the stars had mostly winked out by the time Draco roused his witch; she had fallen asleep against his chest in the early hours of day. Though she sleepily stumbled back into her dormitory to continue her rest, Draco sat awake in the common room until the Great Hall opened for breakfast.

Another sleepless night and yet, he felt perfectly rested somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so fluffy!
> 
> Thank you so much to my beta, I_was_BOTWP, for helping me work on this chapter - and also, to everyone who read, kudo'd & commented.


	36. Choices

As she had the last time, Hermione sank to her knees in the deserted trophy room.

Some quick spellwork by Draco confirmed that the entire section of the castle was devoid of any living creature. Shivering with anticipation now that their privacy had been confirmed, Hermione worked at his zipper and he sprung free. He was exactly how she remembered: the shaft of him long and hard, the head engorged with excitement. Tentatively, she placed her lips on his tip and kissed him lightly. His eyes flashed.

Emboldened now that this was something they had both admitted to wanting from their tenuous relationship, Hermione wanted to tease him. A pearl of viscous fluid had formed at the tip of him, right before her eyes. She tasted it, dragging her tongue down his length and causing him to utter a low groan.

"Shh!" she admonished, pausing to reach for her wand and cast a precautionary _muffliato_ , just in case.

"Well, when you're just teasing…" he protested in a voice that bordered on a whine.

In response, she took him as deep as she could before he touched the back of her throat. He answered with a sharp intake of breath…

It did not take him long to reach climax.

Prepared, Hermione watched as he unraveled before her eyes. Though he had forgone his public mask around her for some time now, there were still several other layers to Draco Malfoy… layers that seemed to simply peel away as his eyes widened and then squeezed shut. He thrust twice into her mouth, the hot stickiness of his release collecting in the back of her throat.

With a sigh of relief, his softening member slid from her mouth and she gave a great swallow. Either she was getting used to it now that they had done this twice, or the taste did not bother her so much this time. She smirked when his body betrayed a shiver in response to her action.

There was now a small cramp in her calf from how she had been kneeling. Stretching the sore muscle as she stood, she primly straightened out her barely ruffled skirt and uniform shirt. "Shall we continue with patrol?"

"Absolutely not," he protested, his arms encircling her. "What sort of man would I be if I didn't return the favor? I've had my pleasure, but you've had none."

With a small grin of mischief, Hermione agreed, "How dreadfully unfair."

He leaned in to kiss the shell of her ear before lowly murmuring into it, "Allow me to rectify that…"

This time, it was she that occupied the darkest corner of the barely lit trophy room. In no time at all, her uniform shirt was untucked and Draco's hand had disappeared below the hem of her pleated skirt. She gave a small gasp as his fingers ran over the opening of her womanhood, slick with excitement from what she had done to him only moments ago. She felt the slow build of his smirk against her collarbone as she began to squirm...

It took longer to bring her to climax than it had for him. When she seemed to get close, Draco pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck and chest, mouthing the fabric of her shirt wherever he came into contact with it. Then, in her ear he murmured, "Fall apart, Hermione. Fall apart for me..."

Her entire body flushed with heat, burgeoning into a shivering orgasm. For a few moments, she only leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily with the aftermath.

"Are you ready to finish patrol now, Miss Prefect?" Draco quipped, a self-satisfied sort of smirk tilting the corner of his mouth.

Through a guilty smile, she protested, "Is that _really_ the best you could come up with? 'Miss Prefect'? When you insulted me in years past, at least you were _creative_."

Draco's eyes flashed, "Are you filing a complaint?"

"If I was?"

But she never found out his retort, because a noise from the hallway outside reminded them of their somewhat-exposed location.

"Through here," Hermione whispered with urgency, motioning for Draco to follow her through the secret passage hidden by the painting of Brutus Scrimgeour. The portrait swung open and they crept through it, leaving the trophy room behind and shutting out the faint blue glow from the Triwizard Cup.

Predictably, the passage spilled them out onto the fourth floor. Draco looked around and raised his eyebrows, "How many secret passages in this castle do you know?"

"If I told you, they wouldn't be secret any longer, would they?" she jested with an impish grin before taking off without him toward the staircases.

She could not be certain, but she would swear she heard Draco murmur, "Minx."

He did not sound particularly upset about it either.

He rejoined her on the sweeping staircase to the third floor corridor as it shifted directions. They shared a furtive look at one another but said nothing, hyper aware of what they had just shared.

A few moments later they were bantering as usual, light-heartedly insulting one another as they patrolled the third floor, second and first. They caught a pair of fifth-year Ravenclaws sneaking around the library after hours and had to take points – though Hermione was lenient on them since it appeared they were only in there to begin preparing for their O.W.L. examinations, still months away.

"Swots," Draco muttered under his breath as the defeated students retreated in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower.

"Says the Ravenclaw prefect who spends most of his spare time in the Stacks..."

When they came to the caves, however – the last stretch of their patrol – Hermione's lingering smile dropped from her face when they were met with the all-too-familiar sight of Pansy Parkinson. This time, she was alone.

The former-Slytherin certainly was not attempting to hide herself. In fact, it almost seemed she had been waiting there for them. Clutched in her grasp was a mostly empty bottle of aged mead; the stench of sticky sweetness and alcohol hung about her person.

"Wait somewhere else, Granger," she demanded immediately, stumbling shakily toward them. "This doesn't concern you."

"Actually it _does_ concern me if you're out after hours, Pansy," Hermione responded smoothly. "Ten points from Hufflepuff."

"Fuck Hufflepuff," Pansy hiccupped before taking another long swig of the bottle in her hand.

"Are you drunk?" Draco demanded of his former housemate.

The answer was fairly obvious. Hermione and Draco shared a quick look.

Throwing her head back, Pansy was consumed by sudden mirth. "You know what the best part of your whole new _charade_ is, Draco?" She hiccupped again. "How _convincing_ it is." She made her way over to him and landed one finger directly in the center of his chest when she enunciated, "But I know the _real_ you – and _you know it_."

"Pansy…" Draco tried to intervene, batting her finger away.

She captured his hand in hers and her eyes narrowed into slits. "Snakes may shed their skins, Malfoy, but their inner workings don't change."

"Pansy…" he attempted a second time, dropping her hand.

Suddenly despondent, the intoxicated girl let out a thick sob. "We had something _real_!"

Alarmed by how quickly the Hufflepuff had jumped from accusatory to sobbing, Hermione took a step back, her eyes flickering from Pansy to Draco and back again.

With a wail, the intoxicated witch flung her arms around Draco's neck. Hanging heavily off of him, she slurred, "We could still be together if it weren't for that fucking war! Fuck the Dark Lorddd…"

"She's drunk," Draco concluded, trying to pull his former-housemate back to her own two feet. Pansy however, was too cast-down to want to try standing on her own, and she slowly sank to the floor by Draco's feet in a tumult of histrionics.

"We should bring her to the Hospital Wing," Hermione suggested, her lighthearted mood utterly obliterated by everything Pansy had implied about her past with Draco.

To her surprise, Draco slowly shook his head, "Pomfrey will report her for drinking on school property. We should just bring her back to the Hufflepuff commons. She'll sleep it off fine on her own… she doesn't need to be in trouble on top of everything else."

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. Realizing he was not planning to wait for her input anyway, she stiffly answered, "If you think that's best..."

It was with difficulty that they supported Parkinson out from the caves, up through the dungeons, and back to the first floor. None of them spoke a word as they went, except for Pansy's occasional half-coherent grumbling.

When they reached the main corridor of the West Wing, Draco paused and queried, "The Hufflepuff commons are near the kitchens?"

Hermione nodded and tried, "Are you sure we shouldn't bring her to the Hospital Wing...?"

"Positive," he answered firmly.

"This way then," she allowed with an exasperated sigh, jerking her head in the direction of the badgers' common room. They made their way somewhat awkwardly, as Pansy seemed unable - or unwilling - to support her own weight any longer.

The silence that stretched between them gave Hermione ample time to fume over how vexed she was with Draco, for reasons she knew perfectly well. If she were honest with herself, she would love for Pansy to get in trouble – that way at least the girl was punished for _something_... even if it was for drinking on school property, rather than what was _really_ making Hermione upset…

_I know the real you – and you know it. We had something real!_

In the back of her mind, Hermione recalled the day in the library she had first become friends with Theo. He had insisted, _You don't have to worry about Pansy: she's a sad girl, quite lost… she gets around, I'll grant you – but Draco's never done more than snog her, rest assured._

But Pansy and Draco must been friendlier with than Theo had let on, because Draco had not denied anything she had said to him…

_We could still be together if it weren't for that fucking war…_

"Where are you taking me?" Pansy muttered from in-between them, head lolling to the right where Draco supported her with his shoulder. It was the first coherent thing she had said since they had begun their laborious journey.

"We're taking you to your dormitory," Draco told her gently.

"Why're we going… there?" she slurred, stumbling slightly. "I hate it there."

"Keep it together," he admonished in a low voice, "or you'll get us caught sneaking you in."

_Draco always did that,_ Daphne's voice reminded Hermione, a whisper of memory way back from the beginning of term. _Whenever someone was planning to be out past curfew, he waited up to make sure they got back alright. If they were out too late, he went and made sure they were safe. He saved Pansy's arse twice by doing that – once from that awful Umbridge woman and another time from Derrick Bole. I guess Bole tried for more than Pans wanted one night and Draco had to hex him and remind him to keep his hands to himself…_

...Why did that act of kindness suddenly take on a different meaning?

Begrudgingly, she announced, "It's just down here."

The kitchens were before them at last. Hermione was glad of it, as the other witch absolutely reeked of cloying alcohol where she had spilled some on her unkempt uniform blouse, as well as on her breath.

_I wonder how long she was down there…_

Had Draco broken Pansy's heart?

Did it matter?

For that matter, did Pansy have a heart to break?

Presently, the three came to a stop in front of the tower of massive oaken barrels stacked on their sides. Draco eyed them with interest. "How do we enter?"

"Can you support her?"

Hermione shifted Pansy onto Draco so she could pull out her wand. She almost instantly regretted the shift because Pansy once more flung her arms around his neck and began sobbing, beginning in small hiccups and steadily growing in pitch.

"She's going to get us caught!" Hermione hissed urgently.

Without warning, the drunken witch vomited all down Draco's side and arm.

It was mostly mead and stomach acid. Draco looked very green for a moment, like he might be ill himself. He pulled Pansy back up where she had begun to slump over into the puddle of sick, and reproachfully informed her, "That's _disgusting,_ Parkinson."

" _Evanesco_ ," Hermione cast, vanishing the vomit first from Draco, then from Pansy and the floor.

"Thanks." He looked positively relieved.

"…Sorry," Pansy muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve.

"You're going to have to take her into the girls' dormitory."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. She had realized this before, but it annoyed her to think about it. She would much rather have left her with Madam Pomfrey and let Pansy deal with the consequences of her actions.

Still, Draco was very adamant….

Tapping out five beats to the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff' with her wand on the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, Hermione readied herself to jump aside at the last moment, just in case (she still had not forgotten the vinegar incident with Ginny). However, the cask's lid lifted open as it was supposed to, and the mouth of the barrel enlarged enough to allow them to enter.

The main of the common room was mostly empty; only three students were still awake, and all looked up at their entrance. One was a small second year boy, whose eyes widened at the sight of his older classmate, unable to support herself and being dragged in by some Ravenclaws.

Hermione noticed Draco taking in the interior of the Hufflepuff commons with guarded interest. While the plethora of plant life did not seem to offend him, the overstuffed chairs and sofas upholstered with black and yellow curled his lip almost immediately. He took in the honey-colored wooden hearth carved all over with badgers and muttered in an undertone, "Revolting."

"Pardon?" she prompted, unwilling to allow him his disdain.

He shook his head and merely said, "No wonder she's drinking."

A stab of unreasonable anger spiked through her and this time Hermione recognized it exactly for what it was: she was jealous of Pansy Parkinson!

Disgusted with herself for this weakness, she turned to the remaining two students in the common room. The two sixth year girls had clearly been engaged in a game of wizarding chess before she and Draco dragged Pansy in. Hermione addressed the curly-haired girl with glasses, who was closest: "Would you please show me which is the eighth year girls' dormitory?"

The girl, still staring, shyly pointed behind her at the nearest of many completely round doors that lined the enormous circular room. "They're just there."

Hermione thanked the girl and supported Pansy's weight onto herself, pointedly ignoring Draco. Three times she rapped sharply on the door the girl had indicated; she could feel the inhabitants of the common room still watching her.

Presently, her knock was answered by a girl Hermione recognized as Megan Jones, who was captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. She was an athletic girl, tall and muscular with clear, dusky skin, and long hair in many tiny cornrows. At first Megan's eyes rested on Hermione, and surprise showed in her gaze for a moment... until they came to rest on Pansy.

"Oh," the Hufflepuff said, her dark eyes veiled with distaste, "are you here to return that?"

An unexpected surge of sadness for Pansy came and dissipated in quick order. "Can you please let me in with her for a moment?"

Megan stood aside to open the door for Hermione so she could shuffle herself and Parkinson into the room.

The actual dormitories were remarkably similar to both Ravenclaw's and Gryffindor's. The beds were four-posters in a circle with hangings of pale yellow, while the wood was entirely made of oak. There were no windows – the primary difference from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers – but there was ivy climbing up most of the stone walls of the room. Hermione got a feeling like she was underground, almost in a burrow. It felt very fairy-tale like, with wrought iron filigree designs on the back of the completely round entry door.

She laid her charge none too gently on the bed Megan indicated - Pansy seemed to have completely passed out at this point - and arranged her so that she was on her side in case she should vomit again.

"She be'n drinking ag'in, huh?" prompted a voice with a thick, Scottish brogue from the other side of the room.

Hermione looked up and vaguely recognized Sally-Anne Perks, another student who – like Megan – had been Hufflepuff all eight years. The girl was known for being a dreadful gossip, though most of it was relatively harmless – and though she was also on the Quidditch team like her housemate, she was built quite differently. As a Keeper, she was borderline burly, with messy blonde hair.

_How often does Pansy do this?_ Hermione wondered. Aloud, she said, "I've brought her here to let her sleep it off."

Her eyes flickered over briefly to the fourth bed, which was empty. Mandy Brocklehurst – a former Ravenclaw – was absent; she would currently be performing her own prefect patrols of the upper levels with Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Right," Hermione muttered, now free of Pansy as a burden. "Well, I'll just leave her there, I guess."

"Awful nice o' you to've brung her," Sally-Anne grumbled with extreme sarcasm. "Couldn't've left her where'er she was, I su'pose?"

Hermione cast the Hufflepuff a look, "Of course not… and if she's making a habit of drinking, you need to report her to Professor Sprout."

"Why ain't you reportin' her, then?"

_Good question…_

"Be quiet, Sal, would you?" Megan suggested before Hermione could reply. "Just be glad she's out. You know she's worse when she's sober." Turning to Hermione she said, "We'll leave her be. She can sleep it off."

Filled with the distinct feeling that she was not doing Pansy any favors by not reporting the witch's apparent drinking problem, Hermione murmured, "Thank you."

Eager to leave and put the entire incident behind her, she turned on her heel and reached for the wrought iron door handle. The inhabitants of the common room stared at her again as she emerged, and Hermione noted Draco had left the commons altogether.

She found him waiting by the oaken barrels in the corridor outside. Alone again, they stood somewhat apart from one another. Draco offered, "Sorry about that."

Hermione said nothing; it was not quite good enough of an apology for her. Draco seemed to sense this.

The two began to head back toward Ravenclaw Tower for the evening and he continued, "I'm not sure what to do about her."

"She has a problem."

"Yes."

He appearing contrite a moment, clearly convinced he had shared too much about Pansy's problems. They stepped onto the staircase leading to the second floor and held the banisters for balance as the staircases commenced in rearranging themselves.

Hermione hated the empathy she felt for the situation and quickly hid it under her blanket of jealousy. "How long has Pansy had a problem? Since the war, or since you broke up with her?"

The staircase came to a rest just as Draco's head whipped around to look at her. Hermione watched with great interest as his public mask was swiftly put into place. "Myself and Parkinson? You must be joking, Granger."

"Don't 'Granger' me, Draco," she scolded. "Pansy said so herself tonight."

"Surely you don't believe…" he began to scoff.

"I already knew you and she had a past _before_ tonight."

He fell silent. They emerged onto the third floor and headed directly for the fourth. "It was years ago now, nothing really."

"Pansy doesn't seem to think it was nothing."

"Are you jealous?"

"Of course not," she snapped.

His eyebrow raised a moment before he admonished, "Don't be jealous."

"I'm _not_."

Draco snickered under his breath, which only incensed Hermione more. In his most infuriating drawl he told her, "You're jealous over _nothing_."

"I'm _not jealous,_ Malfoy. You have an ego larger than Britain itself," she retaliated. "I think it was a mistake not to bring Pansy to the Hospital Wing is all."

Interest piqued, he queried, "Why is that bothering you?"

"She has a problem - and she can't get help if no one knows, or is willing to do anything about it."

He shook his head as they ascended yet another staircase to the fifth floor, "I don't think Parkinson would welcome complete strangers knowing she has a problem."

"I don't really think it's a secret," she told him dryly. "Her roommates indicated this was a common occurrence for her."

This seemed to unsettle Draco more than Hermione would have expected, and they were silent until they reached the base of Ravenclaw Tower. She made to turn onto the final staircase, her hand already on the banister to head up.

Draco stopped. "Go up without me."

"Why?"

"I need a cigarette."

Haughtily, Hermione turned to face him and squared her shoulders, "You realize that when you're smoking, you're probably ruining _my_ body, too…"

"I know – I know." He grit his teeth and she noticed for the first time that his hands were shaking. Without another word, he took off for the semi-hidden balcony concealed just behind the main staircase.

By the time she had followed him to properly tell him off, he had already lit a cigarette and was taking a long drag. Hermione swelled angrily. He might have some previously undiscovered good characteristics, but he also had the ability to make her more furious than anyone else she knew.

"That's disgusting."

He protested, "This is my first all week and it's Thursday."

"Fine – if you're going to pollute my lungs, at least tell me why you lied to me about Pansy."

He did not reply at once, instead expelling a great lungful of smoke into the air over the grounds. "Parkinson and I had an understanding of sorts in fifth year, but nothing more. Our parents were hoping it would result in a marriage. That was before…"

They both knew the reason. Hermione felt Draco's Dark Mark on her left forearm prickle unsettlingly. With a shiver, she consciously put her hand to her arm in discomfort.

Draco eyed the movement and agreed, "Sometimes I think it still knows."

"It should be impossible…" she trailed off. The thought swung ominously between them and she hastily continued, "So why didn't you get back together with Pansy once the war was over? If she was so important to you?"

"Are you kidding?" he snorted, "I do have _some_ standards. Parkinson has slept around more than I care to think about."

"Then why do you care if she gets in trouble?"

He turned away from her. For the first time, Hermione sensed that he was actually annoyed at her probing, which only angered her more.

"Well?"

"I'll see you in Alchemy in the morning." He was continuing to face toward the opposite side of the balcony, as if she were beneath his notice.

"Are you dismissing me?" she demanded.

Another drag on the cigarette. With the exhale, he bade, "Good night, Granger."

"You are _infuriating,_ Draco Malfoy!" she hissed before whirling on her heel and storming from the balcony and up the spiraling staircase of Ravenclaw Tower.

Theo had said there hadn't been more than snogging between Draco and Pansy in the past! But perhaps that had been true only physically... had Draco actually cared for her? For some reason, Hermione found it difficult to believe that a pre-war, fifteen-year-old Malfoy could care for anyone in that way – but then she had not exactly tried to get to know who he was, back then.

Just like that, she was slapped with the reality that she might be marrying that spoiled brat she had not thought capable of caring for a girl. Everything was surreal for a moment.

The guardian prompted, "What is it that given one, you'll either have two or none?"

She had not even realized she had reached the landing. "Can… can you repeat that, please?"

The door-knocker repeated the riddle and waited.

_You are infuriating, Draco Malfoy!_

"A choice," Hermione answered. The door to the common room swung inward to admit her.

_Good night, Granger…_

But the thing was - despite everything - Draco _was_ her choice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal thanks to everyone who was kind enough to leave a remark on the last bits. Getting comments and kudos is like being gifted snowshoes and then promptly getting enough snow to use them. I am also very grateful to my beta, I_was_BOTWP, for taking a look over this chapter before it went up. All the love.


	37. The Very Corner Of Her Lips

Hermione awoke the next morning to Lisa's squeals of delight, "Only two weeks until Christmas!"

"Too early, Lisa," Daphne groaned from her own bed. The former-Slytherin slid her pillow over her ears to block out the piercing noise.

Lisa paid her dorm-mate no mind, instead gesturing out onto the Hogwarts grounds from the window by her bed. "Look!"

Curious, Padma padded over to the Lisa's window and observed, "Ah yes, Professor Hagrid is bringing up evergreens from the Forbidden Forest."

Hermione sat up in bed and felt all of her bones and joints creak ominously; she was growing used to having Draco's arthritis during the day, but mornings remained a daily challenge. She had gone to the Hospital Wing twice for pain potions, but dared not do it more frequently for fear of building up a reliance on them.

Glancing from her bedside window, she noted the fresh quilt of snowfall cloaking the grounds. Hagrid could indeed be seen trudging through the sea of white and pulling three enormous evergreens behind him.

"The Great Hall will be decorated for breakfast!" Lisa crowed, flopping backward onto her bed and giggling. She sighed dreamily, "I  _ love _ Christmas…"

"That means only one more week of classes until break," Sue piped up optimistically. "Thank Merlin, I need some time off from Alchemy – it makes my brain hurt."

"Some Ravenclaw  _ you _ are," Padma teased, throwing her pillow playfully at her friend's head.

"Oh, you did not just do that…" Sue challenged with a grin, gathering several pillows and standing up on her rumpled sheets and sky-blue quilt so that her head almost touched the canopy of her four poster.

With a war cry, the Quidditch player jumped from her bed onto Padma's and began pummeling the Head Girl with multiple pillows. Lisa joined in with glee, while Daphne finally gave up on attempting a few more minutes of sleep and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Hermione was strongly reminded of Ginny's legendary pillow fights - though comparatively, this one was quite tame.

_ Only two weeks until Christmas! _

Just like that, Hermione's stomach dropped into her feet. How could there only be two weeks left until the holiday? She had agreed to marry Draco on the sole condition that she had not found an alternate solution by Christmas. It had seemed like plenty of time when she had agreed…

...But now?

_ You are infuriating, Draco Malfoy! _

Now she wanted to smother him with one of Sue's war pillows. Not enough to murder him perhaps… but enough to give him cause for alarm… maybe make him flail a bit…

She imagined this and stifled a small snigger, somehow feeling ever-so-slightly better.

The five Ravenclaw girls presently gathered their things for class and made their way down to breakfast in a timely manner. When they came upon the Great Hall, they discovered Lisa had indeed been right: it was half-decorated for the upcoming holiday.

A trail of slush, pine needles, and humongous muddy footprints that could only belong to Hagrid, led up to the hall, and were causing Filch go ballistic in the corridor. The caretaker could be seen angrily mopping the Entrance Hall whilst muttering murderously under his breath.

Meanwhile, Hogwarts' customary twelve evergreens were stationed enormously around the cavernous hall; Professor Flitwick had begun the process of levitating many sparkling ornaments onto their boughs. The smell of fresh balsam permeated.

"Hermione!" Ginny called from across the hall. She, Harry, Ron and Luna were sitting at the Hufflepuff table today.

A quick glance around the Great Hall confirmed Draco's absence (she had not really expected him to be there, as she knew he liked to break his fast early), before Hermione turned to Daphne and muttered, "Come on."

"Good morning, beautiful," Ron greeted, leaning over to peck his girlfriend on the cheek as she sat down beside him.

Daphne looked pleased and genially answered, "Good morning."

" _ Eugh _ ," Ginny effused, wrinkling her nose.

"Oh, love of my life," Harry pronounced theatrically, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders beside him and emulating Ron, "I thank you for blessing me with your honorific presence on this fine December morning…"

"Shut it, will you?" Ginny protested, shoving his arm away, though she seemed to enjoy the attention.

"You're all pathetic," Hermione determined pointedly, helping herself to some eggs and toast.

"Oh, go away, you're getting bitterness and jealousy all over my morning," Ginny retorted.

Ron remained silent - he had not been able to look Hermione in the eye ever since he and Harry had stumbled upon her and Draco in the empty classroom...

"Hermione doesn't need to be jealous, Ginny," Luna spoke up for the first time. The Gryffindor was arranging the eggs, tomatoes and kippers on her plate into a design that seemed to be of her own creation. "She's in love."

It was almost comical, Hermione decided, how fast her friends' heads whipped around to stare critically at her: Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Daphne all looked in unison. The difference was, while Ginny's and Harry's lips curled somewhat and Ron looked borderline green, Daphne looked pleased.

" _ Is _ she?" she pressed eagerly.

_ Certainly not,  _ Hermione inwardly thought.  _ Not with the Great Bouncing Ferret... _

"Oh, yes," Luna replied, turning her large, pale eyes to Daphne. "If you look closely, you can see a little bit of sadness in the set of her mouth… but there's also a kiss on the very corner of her lips, and she treasures it." *

Ron squinted hopelessly, "I don't see it."

Daphne's pleased expression morphed into a toothy grin, "I'm sure you're right, Lovegood."

_ Just Luna being Luna, _ Hermione told herself firmly, stabbing at her egg rather harder than necessary.  _ Still, she really shouldn't make assumptions about people. _

Ginny was eyeing her friend with a guarded expression, the brunt of which Hermione was only saved from when the post arrived. They were all successfully distracted when a regal-looking Brown Fish-Owl with enormous feathered tufts landed in front of Hermione. Shortly after, a tiny Whiskered Screech Owl followed, twittering energetically. The Fish-Owl peered down at the smaller owl disdainfully.

"Two letters today," Harry observed to Hermione, catching the smaller of the owls and removing the attached letter to hand it over.

The larger owl stuck out his leg professionally, as if determined to show the smaller mail-carrier how it was done. Hermione removed the curled parchment and took the second letter from Harry. Both birds left for refreshment at the owlery.

"What do they say?" Ron demanded impatiently. Daphne and Luna, who were unaware of Hermione’s mandala predicament, both looked curious.

The first letter, much smaller than the other, Hermione tore open and scanned over quickly. Her face fell as she was swiftly disappointed; the New Zealand alchemist's response was the suggestion of repeating the performance using an animal representing the number two.

Having already done significant research on runic lore, Hermione knew that graphorns were the creatures representing the number two. Unlike the friendly and docile unicorns, graphorns were dangerous and aggressive creatures. Additionally, it was not definite that the use of a graphorn in an identical mandala would split her and Draco properly, especially considering the unicorn had done it imperfectly to begin with – mirroring their scars and aches, sharing them instead of lessening them.

"Did you get bad news?" Ginny demanded, eyeing the letter in Hermione's hands cuttingly.

"Not  _ bad _ news," she answered quietly, "just not very useful news…"

She turned her attention to the second letter, noting it was an entire two pages of parchment. It was a response to a query she had sent to India, where a set of twins practiced their craft together.

The response was written in two different hands, but flowed seamlessly as if it were from a single mind:

__ Good day, Ms. Granger,  
__ We have read your request for help many times and apologize for our late reply. Your situation is something we have had the need to puzzle over for more than a moment before responding.  
__ When you wrote to us, what you may or may not be aware of, is our particular branch of alchemy delves into how such primal magic relates to the primal in humans – in how we trade sexual energies – for we believe these two things are more greatly intertwined than humankind is willing to admit.  
__ If you have already conducted study into how the kundalini and the alchemy of the body are connected, forgive us while we recant the basics…  
__ The kundalini is a powerful, serpentine energy located at the base of the spine. In many humans, it is a dormant energy and can only be awakened by ascent through the spinal canal, vertebra by vertebra. Through this, it is possible to harness our inner power – the only inner power humans have by nature, other than magic, of course.  
__ It seems to us, since your unique situation was achieved using Salt (which, as you know, is the Body of alchemy), an equivalent reversal could be achieved through the use of energy from the Body, using the only natural alchemical power it has: the kundalini.  
__ The gnosis to achieve the high awakening of the kundalini's power is obtained through sexual energy. You may be reluctant to hear this – especially as we can assume a unicorn was only attracted to your mandala in the first place, as one or both of the participants are (or were at the time) virgins.  
__ You must remember, sex is a sacred act – a gateway – capable of reminding us that our bodies are vessels of immense power and love. The energy of sexuality is a wonderful source of primal magic of the same sort that makes up the ancient science of alchemy. Because we can assume bodily virginity of one or more parties involved, a sexual awakening on your mutual behalf goes hand-in-hand with magical prowess.  
__ Bearing that in mind, channelling a sexual awakening inside an identical mandala may be the answer to your situation.  
__ Every major religion and philosophy has a mystical aspect devoted to understanding and exploring the deeper concepts behind the kundalini - therefore, it is not only magical understanding you would be blessed with, but spiritual awareness as well.  
__ While we hope you are also consulting others who study the ancient religion of alchemy in hoping to rectify your situation, it is our wish that this response aids you in some way. We would be interested in making a study of your situation, if you do decide to act on our recommendation.  
_ Please write us back if you have further questions,  
_ __ Priya & Indra Upadhyaya

“Everything alright, Hermione?” Harry questioned.

Hermione could feel that her face had heated exponentially; she was sure she was now glowing at least as red as Ginny’s hair. Hurriedly, she folded up the letter and stuffed it into her bookbag. “Yes, fine… er, I’ve got to go – library."

None of her friends questioned this, as it was a very Hermione thing to do.

"I'll see you later," she bid, abandoning her breakfast and taking off to re-read the second letter in peace. It was proving very difficult to keep everything a secret with so many friends in the know.

For once, Hermione was not  _ actually _ seeking the library, but rather a few moments alone to clear her thoughts. When she reached one of the first-floor corridors, and was sure she was by herself, she ducked into an empty classroom and re-read the letter twice more.

_ This is exactly the opposite of what McGonagall’s alchemy contact warned us against, _ she decided.

She flushed again, thinking of what the advice was suggesting: that she have sex with Draco inside a mandala in order to harness an inner power. It seemed fantastical – not to mention extremely presumptuous. How could that possibly fix their accident?

She recalled the day Draco had slipped into the prefects' bathroom tub with her and massaged her aching, arthritic hands and feet. While she had mostly looked away as he stripped, she could easily recall the way his body was formed. He was lithe instead of muscular, except perhaps in his legs, likely from walking up and down so many stairs in the castle. There was a trail of blond hair – a mere shade darker than the platinum hair on his head – that ran from a small collection on his chest down his stomach in a line and disappeared into his shorts…

Then there were the two separate incidents in the trophy room. It still seemed surreal to Hermione that she had taken him in her mouth while she was supposed to be on prefect patrol. His manhood was long and thick and foreign-looking… at least to her. She had never seen another penis up close before. Maybe that was what they all looked like? The most she had ever seen were brief flashes of nudity, with only him as an exception.

Setting her wandering thoughts aside for the moment, she decided,  _ I need to re-read that initial response to McGonagall’s inquiry. See what exactly was said about why we should refrain from sex while looking into reversing the bond... _

As Draco had the response in his possession, she would have to ask him for them… not that she was considering having sex with him because some strangers from India wrote her that she should, of course. Still, it was always better to over-research than under-research…

"You alright?"

Her head whipped up; she had been so engrossed in the letter, she had not heard anyone enter the abandoned classroom. Theo was leaning in the doorway of the unused classroom and regarding her with a very calculating, Slytherin look.

She quickly folded up the already-worn sheafs of parchment. "Theodore."

He smirked, "Hermione."

"What brings you here?"

"The state of your mental health," he answered, standing from where he leaned and walking over to where she sat at one of the desks. Instead of taking the chair beside or opposite her, he planted himself on the top of the desk. "You've just got news that upsets you. Also, Draco's avoiding you."

She turned away and coldly replied, "I don't want to see him anyway."

"Bet you don't. He was pretty dismissive of you last night, especially after the trophy room escapade."

Horrified, Hermione's jaw slowly dropped, "Theodore, you…! You are a total menace to personal privacy!"

He snickered at her.

"You have no right…!"

"Calm yourself, love," he soothed. "No need to get your knickers in a bunch. I don't get my jollies off on stuff like that, I just stop looking."

She glared at him suspiciously.

" _ Really _ ," Theo stressed, "I don't get off on watching my best mate get lucky. Not really my bag. Still – there's the issue of what you're going to do to get back on speaking terms with him."

"That is not my responsibility.  _ He _ was dismissive of  _ me _ ."

"Let me tell you some things about Draco, darling," Theo began. "He's an only child…"

She interrupted hotly, "So am I!"

He held up his hand to stop her, "Let me finish. He's an only child and the sole heir of an estate I don't think you're entirely comprehending the enormity of – and he was basically raised by nannies. You think Narcissa Malfoy was going to mother a child herself? Of course she didn't; she wasn't raised to believe it was proper. Then, themselves not being the Lady of the Manor, nannies can do nothing but their job – and their job was to provide care, not to discipline. A job made significantly easier through indulgence. Why do you think he was always such a twat before? Whenever Malfoy wanted a problem to go away… it did."

"I hope you aren't implying I should be treating him like the spoiled brat he is, just because he's used to it."

Theodore shook his head, "Not at all. You see, Malfoy recently learned on his own that, that wasn't how the world actually operates. The war put things into perspective for him. The problem is, he's taking his relationship with you very seriously. When things go wrong for him, he overthinks and gets anxiety attacks." Hermione's mouth opened but Theo stopped her again, "They're not like your panic attacks – that's different. But I know you've noticed his hands start to shake before he becomes more irritable than an animal interrupted from hibernation."

Hermione had indeed noticed this.

"It makes him unable to think straight. He hates it and the spoiled little shite he's always been sneaks back out."

In her mind, Hermione flashed back to the first time they had come upon Ravenclaw's study. They both scrubbed furiously at the truth-compelling powder on their arms and Draco had affirmed:  _ My anxiety really bothers me. Malfoys are supposed to be calm, cool, collected! I have a really hard time being that way, ever since the war. _

"So what are you saying? That he considers me a problem and nothing more?"

_...It makes me feel like I'm not the son and heir I was expected to be. _

"I'm just saying, Hermione, that maybe Draco's trying much, much harder than you think he is."

Hermione fell silent. For the first time since Theo's sudden appearance, she had nothing to say.

"He's not perfect…"

She snorted.

"…But neither are you."

"And neither are  _ you _ ," she retorted pointedly.

"Truer words have never been spoken," he agreed easily.

"And Pansy Parkinson?"

"What about her?" Theo asked.

"How does she factor into all this?"

Theo sighed, looking torn. "Don't be jealous of Parkinson, she just hasn't come to terms with a post-war reality yet. She probably never will."

"It doesn't bother me that she and Draco were together once," Hermione admitted, "just that Draco still took her side." Disdainfully, she sniffed once. "He  _ dismissed _ me. As if I were a servant of his."

"Trust me, Draco is very aware that you are not a servant."

Suddenly suspicious, she narrowed her eyes and queried, "Did he send you here to speak to me?"

In his best highly offended expression, Theo mocked, "Did Lord Malfoy send his vassal to win back his Lady's affections?" He snorted loudly. "Certainly not."

A smile twitched at the corner of Hermione's lips, "You're something else."

"As are you," he acceded. Then, closing his eyes a moment and re-opening them, he said, "I shan't keep you any longer, or you'll be late for your adventure."

"Adventure?" she repeated, puzzled.

"Yes, a friend is looking for you," he explained cryptically, "with something important and most interesting to discover with you."

"But we have Alchemy in fifteen minutes…"

Theo shushed her and held out a hand to lead her to the door of the unused classroom they currently occupied. "I will take notes for you and explain to McGonagall that you're in the Hospital Wing…"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"…With lady problems."

She hit him with her hand. "I don't have time for an adventure just now, Nott."

"Oh, McGonagall's not even assigning homework this week."

"How do you know?"

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at her.

"Oh. Right."

"Let's go, princess. Don't forget your quill."

"My...? I am  _ not _ going on an adventure!"

"Mouthy little thing, aren't you?" Theo teased as they shut the unused classroom door behind them and spilled into the corridor. "Wonder what Draco sees in you…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in there, I hid a * which notates a remark made by Luna during breakfast, which is a modified quote from James Barrie's 'Peter Pan'. Love.
> 
> Thank you, as always, to all those who took the time to leave a comment. To say I am consistently overwhelmed by the outpouring of love I have received on this fic, is an understatement.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	38. The Matter Of Fate

**** It took Hermione two thorough searches through her bookbag to realize she had forgotten her textbook.  _ How could I have been so careless? It's my only morning class. _

“Forgotten something?” Theo queried, all feigned innocence.

She glared at him. “My textbook.”

"Looks like it’s back up to the eagle's nest for you, love," he replied, too cheerfully.

Pursing her lips, she affirmed, "I  _ will _ be in class, Theodore."

He waved her words away with a knowing smile. "Yes, I'm sure."

"I will."

"Right."

There was no use arguing with Nott when he was being this way, Hermione knew. With a roll of her eyes, she checked the time and decided, “I’d better hurry. See you in class?”

"I'll walk you to Ravenclaw Tower,” he offered, setting off with her. Hermione smiled, glad for the company - even if it was bound to be snarky, egotistical company. “Though why anyone would build a dormitory in a tower is still beyond me… too many bloody stairs."

"Am I to assume you're still unhappy in Gryffindor Tower?" she queried, after a pause.

He shrugged, diplomatically answering, "It's very different from Slytherin."

"Yes," she agreed. He seemed unwilling to be any more forthcoming on his own, so she pressed, "But are you  _ happy _ ?"

With a snort of derision, he replied, "I'm not sure I've ever been happy, princess."

Nearly stopping in her tracks, Hermione was taken aback by such a candid answer. "But…  _ never _ ? That's so sad..."

"It was never my destiny to be happy,” he explained with a dark laugh, “and don’t you go feeling sorry for me, either. I don’t think I could stand that.”

Unsure what to say, Hermione fell silent, feeling distinctly like he was on the verge of explaining a little more about himself. They climbed two flights of stairs before she finally mustered, “Surely, though, you must have felt happiness at some point in time? Maybe as a young child?”

He seemed only to have been waiting for her to ask, because he promptly launched into the story. "The moment my father learned his sixth son - my older half-brother - had been born, he began to desire a seventh… a powerful son. So he married quickly, and to a proper pureblooded witch, so none could dispute my legitimacy. His new wife – my mother – produced me within the year." 

He ran his tongue across the front of his teeth while pretending to examine his fingernails, but Hermione knew better than to take his affected indifference seriously. 

"No matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough to please my father,” Theo went on. “He had always led a life of pleasure... taking whatever he wanted, sleeping with whomever he desired; he even killed four of his own brothers – and would have offed the others if they hadn't done themselves in, on their own, in a duel."

Scandalized, Hermione could only question, "But why?"

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he explained, "By killing off his brothers, my father could undisputedly collect the entirety of the Nott inheritance, whole and intact."

She shook her head incredulously. "He sounds like a ruthless man."

"He was," Theo agreed as they hastened toward the next staircase. "He waited until I was old enough to show signs of magic before he began killing off the rest of his sons… something the Dark Lord supported him on, during his first reign of power. My sister was born two years after myself - but father never had any interest in females, unless he could bed them. I'm not sure he ever acknowledged her existence."

Morally offended, Hermione exploded, "That's horrible!"

"Yes, I suppose it was," he mused. "But I never knew any different. After my mother passed, my sister ran away. She was frightened of the uncertainty of her future, I think."

Hermione made a noise of sympathy and placed a hand on her unlikely friend's shoulder. He bristled at the contact, but allowed her to keep it there, despite his earlier admonitions not to. "Whatever happened to her? To your sister?"

"Serena," he murmured. "She was too good for this world, always helping lesser creatures like animals and house elves when she knew my father couldn't see. She lives in Spain now, in Cadiz."

"Have you had contact with her at all?"

Slowly, Theo shook his head. "It's better that I don't. She fell in love with a half-blood and they intend to marry. She seems happy."

Hermione fell silent a moment before iterating, "You deserve to be happy, too, Theodore."

He barked out a short laugh. "Nah. I'm not built for happiness - or rather, my happiness would only bring about misery in others. I'm better off like this. In any case, things  _ are _ certainly better than they were... I don't have a sociopathic father to deal with, nor is the maniac whose feet he condescended to lick, still in power. I have no responsibilities toward any of my family either, as I don't have any left."

"Oh, but…" Hermione began to protest.

"…Not to mention, I'm filthy rich."

She shut her mouth, realizing he had reverted back to his usual snarky self. The staircase upward came to a rest with a dull thud in front of them, but Hermione started up it almost before it had settled, with Theo a half-step behind.

"...So rich I'd be covered in witches if any of them wanted anything to do with a Death Eater's son." He pondered a moment, "You know, I never thought I'd say this, but Longbottom's actually a pretty swell guy. The re-sorting was pretty rough at first, but once I had proven I wasn't there to be a repressed Death Eater clone, Longbottom stood up for me to the others. Goldstein and Cornfoot took a bit to get over it, but they eventually did. He laid down the law, and told them exclusion wasn't how things were done in Gryffindor… not true, of course, as exclusion is how it's done literally  _ everywhere _ . But it was a decent thing to say."

Swelling with pride for her friend, Hermione stated, "Neville is a good person. He's come a long way since first year."

Theo shrewdly observed, "He makes up for his insecurities by pretending to be incredibly masculine. Still, it could be worse, so a bloke can't complain."

Hermione reflected on this observation for a moment. It made sense that Neville might have some post-war repercussions of his own; he had led a Hogwarts insurrection last year, after all. Besides, he was far from the only one with residual trauma: Draco's anxiety and insomnia, Daphne's bulimia, Harry's nightmares, Pansy's alcoholism, Hermione's own panic attacks… not to mention the hoards of younger students who constantly seemed to be expecting to be attacked. She was sure there were others.

"Speaking of that," Theo remarked to his companion as they turned onto the last staircase to the fifth floor. "What in Merlin's name are you doing to my mate? He never smokes with me and Blaise anymore."

"Good,” Hermione snapped, immediately on the defensive. “Maybe he will finally quit that disgusting habit."

"You're crazy, Granger. It keeps him human."

"It's also slowly killing him!" Mentally she added,  _ And probably me, too. _

"Relax, you insane witch," he drawled. "If you stop pestering the man about it, he'll begin tinkering with potions and powders to find a substitute. In fact, he eventually finds one – and you'll still complain that it smells, although spicy."

Appeased, she granted, "I'll take spicy."

"I bet you will, you saucy thing."

She swatted him just as they reached the fifth floor landing, then bid, "Go on ahead, I don't want to make you late."

Theo winked, "Have fun."

"I'll see you in Alchemy in a few minutes," she insisted, though in her heart she was conflicted as to whether or not she hoped he was wrong.

"Sure thing, princess," he jibed, heading back down toward their classroom.

Once he was out of sight, she rolled her eyes and made her way to Ravenclaw Tower as quickly as she could, taking the steps two at a time in some places. The end result was that she was somewhat out-of-breath when she reached the top, and met the door-knocker with very little patience.

"Journey without it and you will never prevail, but if you carry too much of it, you will surely fail."

"Bother," she wheezed under her breath.

Just as she attempted to pull her thoughts together to work at the riddle, the door opened from the other side – and out waltzed Luna Lovegood, the door closing behind her.

As she usually did, Luna gave off an air of confidence that made it seem like it was perfectly normal for her to be in an unusual place – though as a Gryffindor, she really should not have been in Ravenclaw Tower at all. "Hello, Hermione. You're going to be late for your class, you know."

This was such a pragmatic greeting from the traditionally dotty girl that for a split-second, Hermione was thrown off. She merely agreed, "Yes. I'm afraid I've forgotten my book."

"Oh, we'll have to answer the riddle again," the other girl said, turning expectantly to the door-knocker.

"Journey without it and you will never prevail, but if you carry too much of it, you will surely fail," repeated the guardian.

"Oh, that's an easy one…" Luna remarked, answering, "confidence!"

"Well thought out," complimented the door-knocker, the entrance swinging open to admit them.

"Thanks," said Hermione, bursting into the mostly deserted common room. To her surprise, Luna followed her in. "Don't you have a class to get to, Luna?"

"Oh no, not until after lunchtime," the former-Ravenclaw answered serenely.

"You know you aren't meant to be in Ravenclaw Tower, right?" Hermione continued as she headed for the girls' dormitory staircase.

Luna shook her head, waves of her dirty blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. "Ravenclaw didn't govern her house by such strict rules as that. Neither did Hufflepuff. If an outsider could be clever enough to make their way in, they were welcome."

Hermione gritted her teeth. She did not have time to argue the point with the strangest of her friends when she was going to be late for class. Without a reply, she bounded up the staircase and flung open the door to her dormitory. She found her textbook in quick order, stuffing it into her bookbag and descending the stair once more.

Luna was still in the common room, now touching the marble hand of Rowena Ravenclaw's beautiful statue with the same familiarity Hermione had once seen her do on another occasion. It was enough to give her pause. "Why do you come here, Luna?"

"Just visiting a friend. Gryffindor Tower is nice, but it's different."

_ Funny, Theo said the same thing… _

She recalled the beginning of term, when Luna had appeared in the Ravenclaw common room to tell her Ron was waiting outside for her. The girl sat down and merely observed the area for a few minutes before making her rounds, greeting the marble statue as she did now, then leaving as if it were perfectly normal. How often had she done that? Softening a moment, Hermione replied, "I had difficulty adapting, too, at first."

Luna smiled knowingly.

Remembering herself, Hermione made her way back to the exit. "I'm going to be late if I don't hurry."

The other girl accompanied her outside and the unlikely duo descended the staircase.

Out of nowhere, Luna queried, "Do you believe in fate, Hermione?"

She opened her mouth to scoff at the query, then promptly shut her jaw with a snap as memories flooded her:

_ …Her hair was bushy as it had ever been as she flounced from compartment to compartment on the Hogwarts Express, a tear-stained, eleven-year-old Neville Longbottom trailing behind her. With impatience, she slid open the door to the last compartment and was met with two boys about her own age. One was tall with flaming red hair and a smudge of dirt across his long nose; the other was rather small and unhealthily thin with messy, dark hair and broken spectacles. _

_ With fanfare, she put the question to them, "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one…" _

_ …The troll raised its club over its head to bring it down upon her where she crouched below the bathroom sink. She knew in her heart that this would be the death-blow, so she screamed. _

_ "Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron cried, pointing his wand at the club. When the troll brought its great, long arms downward without a crash, it blinked stupidly… _

_ …An older Hermione gazed at Harry from where she sat against a tree. Albus Dumbledore's copy of the 'Tales of Beedle the Bard' was open on her lap over a threadbare blanket. The forest was beautiful, but her heart ached with the memory that she had once camped between these magnificent trees with her parents. The lullaby of a nearby river chuckled in the background. _

_ "We could stay here, you know," she told her best friend. "Grow old… stay in hiding…" _

_ …The first rays of sunlight burst over the sills of the windows lining the Great Hall. Rubble clogged the walkways and one of the four long House tables lay in splinters along the far wall. Harry's face was bloodied and dirty, but his green eyes shone with unfathomable courage and an unknown knowledge. He yelled the disarming spell just as Voldemort cast the killing curse. For a moment, the light from their wands locked in a deadly battle – and then, the Elder wand flew from Voldemort's hand, landing gracefully into Harry's. The lifeless body of the Dark Lord hit the floor, his white hands empty, but Harry did not smile… _

_ …It was summer and the chestnut tree beside Ron's bedroom window at the Burrow was in full bloom, boasting white tufts of flowers that promised to blossom soon into nuts that could be gathered and roasted at Christmastime. Hermione stared out from the window, unseeing, at the old stone outhouse in the backyard which the Weasleys had converted into a broom cupboard. _

_ Unbidden, Harry spoke up, "I think I was meant to find you both. I couldn't have defeated Voldemort otherwise… without you."... _

It was not without a certain amount of wavering in her voice that Hermione finally answered Luna. "I'm not sure."

The Gryffindor nodded and clarified, "I think there is such a thing, but I also think people consider things to be the product of fate that aren't."

_...Hermione was in Ravenclaw’s secret study with Draco, who was desperately using a conjured towel to scrub at his hand, covered in the silvery truth-compelling powder. Though he gritted his teeth in annoyance and mild panic, Hermione could not help but notice the beauty of his long, dark-golden eyelashes fringing slate-gray eyes… _

_ …“We can stay here until dawn if that is what you wish," Draco promised in little more than a murmur. They were laid out on the ugly tartan blanket Hermione had found in the store cupboard of her dormitory, while the jar of bluebell flames hovered nearby, casting a blue haze on both their skin. One of his long fingers began to twist around one of her curls… _

Before she could become lost in memories, Hermione shook herself and discovered she was blushing slightly. "I'm not sure there's an accurate way to tell if something is fate or not."

Luna seemed to consider this, then deduced, "Perhaps we aren't meant to know. It could put a lot of pressure on a person or a situation if we knew ahead of time that it was significant."

Hermione cracked a small smile, "I suppose you're right."

Mentally, she added,  _ I'd love to introduce you to Theodore. I'm sure the two of you would have a great deal to talk about. _

Her feet on auto-pilot, she did not notice they were no longer headed toward the classroom where Alchemy was beginning in only two minutes' time until she swiveled her head around as fast as an owl, realizing she was utterly lost. "Where are we?"

“I assumed you knew,” Luna answered airily. “I've just been following you."

She stomped her foot in frustration. "I'm going to be so late!"

"Perhaps just around this corner?" Luna suggested.

Hermione did recognize what was around the corner…

…But it was not what she had been looking for.

Before them, at the end of the short corridor, stood a simple wooden door with a shining gold trim. Luna gasped, her huge blue eyes widening as a smile curved onto her lips. "Oh! I hadn't thought I would ever be here again."

Hermione's head whipped around, "You've been to Ravenclaw's study before?"

"Oh, yes. Have you, too?"

She nodded. This was some news: apparently Luna Lovegood had been inside the secret office before. "I thought it only appeared to Ravenclaws?"

"Perhaps it takes into account that I was a Ravenclaw for six years, even if I'm a Gryffindor now," the other girl puzzled. Her eyes were shining with pure gratitude, which Hermione felt distinctly uncomfortable witnessing. "I didn't think I would ever be back."

"I really need to get to class…" Hermione began, glancing over her shoulder at the relatively known portion of the castle. She would be late regardless if she turned back or not at this point. In the end, it was the excitement on Luna's face coupled with her own curiosity that prompted her to resign herself, sigh deeply, and ask her friend, "Would you like to go first?"

Without hesitation, Luna reached for the door handle, inlaid with gold and emblazoned with ornate eagles. The heavy wooden door opened to reveal the familiar ruinous passageway with its crumbling blocks of stone, cracked and covered in crawling ivy. She stepped in, followed closely by her companion; Hermione could feel the magical signature of the air shift around her. It felt ancient, just as it had the last time.

Their feet slipping under the collection of dust and rubble that coated the stone floors of the castle, they presently came to the second door which Hermione remembered led into Rowena's chambers. It was unremarkable, made of plain wood with rusted hinges. Luna boldly continued forward, unfazed by their unique situation. She unlocked the door with a simple, " _ Alohomora _ ."

Both girls peered in curiously.

It was almost exactly as Hermione remembered: the polished suit of ancient Indian armor stood in the same place it had the last time she had been there, as did a few of the instruments and most of the swords and battleaxes. However, a few artifacts seemed to have moved; many of the easels were packed away and there were different plants in pots stationed in new locations. While the midnight blue carpet was still littered with interesting objects and crumpled bits of parchment, there were some new keepsakes thrown into the mix.

An enormous strongbox featuring ornate tracery sat unyieldingly by the door. A silver-threaded tapestry Hermione did not recall from her last visit hung on the wall behind the claw-footed desk and seemed to depict a group of veela dancing for a crowd of unsuspecting male victims.

"I don't understand why the room appeared," Hermione wondered aloud as her eyes were overwhelmed with minute details. "I've only been here once before."

"You must have a need of some of information that's inside."

"Is that why it appears?"

"Oh, yes. Ravenclaws thrive in environments where existing knowledge is freely shared. That way, more information can be learned instead of basic knowledge having to be rediscovered." Luna paused to examine a flowerpot on a nearby table, which boasted a few bright orange flowers with actual flames rising in tiny fires from their stamens. "The bookshelves draw information from the Stacks, too."

Astounded, Hermione wanted to know, "When did you come here before?"

"Twice. Once in third year, then again in sixth."

"Why did the room present itself to you?"

"I'm fascinated with Rowena, herself,” Luna explained. “I've been collecting information about her for years; I read all her published works, looked over her correspondence. This office allowed me to peruse her journals."

"I had no idea."

"I've always felt she was like a friend," she volunteered, "especially before I had any."

Shifting somewhat uncomfortably, Hermione asked, "Is that why you visit her statue in Ravenclaw Tower?"

Luna nodded.

Satisfied, Hermione glanced from the window. There were larch trees stretching back as far as the eye could see – an enormous copse that certainly was not standing in her own era. Noticing that the window was cracked open, she went to it and took a deep breath. Even the air smelled different here.

"And here is Carissime's roost," Luna observed, placing her hand on a gigantic, carved perch as tall as Hermione's shoulders. She was shocked she had not noticed it before, given its size.

"Who... and what… is Carissime?" Hermione wanted to know. She bent closer to observe the enormous pedestal, only to recoil when she realized there was half a fresh rabbit still in the tray beneath, its entrails dangling from what remained of the animal.

"Rowena's familiar," the former-Ravenclaw explained, not at all repulsed by what appeared to have been half a meal. "She's a golden eagle."

"That explains the mascot," Hermione deduced, her eyes wandering to a stack of locked books that tilted upward from Rowena's desk. "I've always wondered. It doesn't say anything about it in  _ Hogwarts: A History _ ."

Following her companion's gaze, Luna wondered aloud, "What is it you're looking for?"

"I'm not sure," she replied honestly.

Luna only nodded and tied her long hair back, tucking her wand behind her ear for safe-keeping. "Let's get started looking then, so you can find out what it is sooner."

Hermione did not even try to pick apart the logic of this; she was merely grateful for the help – though she was still upset she would be missing the second-to-last Alchemy class before break. Nevertheless, she rolled up her sleeves and wondered where to start. She glanced over at Luna, who was looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for instruction. Before Hermione knew it, the story of finding the instructions for the mandala was coming out – although she strategically left out the part about who she had partnered with – and the ongoing dilemma about finding a way out. If Luna found it odd that she neglected to mention her partner-in-crime's name, she did not comment on it, and Hermione was grateful.

She began to poke around, noting that the truth-compelling powder was no longer in the cauldron by the corner cabinets full of potions ingredients. Instead, something greenish-blue that smelled like freshly-cut grass swirled counterclockwise of its own accord. Curious, Hermione tried to read the recipe on the nearby music stand to determine what the mysterious potion was, but the entire recipe was in French and she could not make it out.

_ I'm glad I took some of the powder when I had the chance,  _ she reflected, thinking of the little vial secretly tucked away in her trunk, hidden inside one of her socks. _ Given Luna's theory that this office only appears when there is need of it, does that mean I was meant to find it? _

It was an interesting notion. A compelling feeling settled in her lungs, pushing its way up her throat and causing her to swallow heavily.

_ …Does that mean Draco was also meant to find Ravenclaw and Slytherin's alchemy journal? _

The thought caused an intriguing, heavy sensation to settle in her chest.

_ Do you believe in fate, Hermione? _

Her heart began to beat somewhat faster.

_ Perhaps… if I was meant to be here…  _ She closed her eyes and pulled a book randomly off the nearest shelf, opening it to the first page it fell to. Opening her eyes, the page described the use of fairies in mandalas. They did not have a strong enough magical signature to affect the result of a mandala, but were sometimes used by experienced alchemists to lend the magic some additional power.

Her heart beat even faster.  _ This cannot be coincidence… _

"I found something interesting, Hermione," Luna announced from the other side of the room.

Tucking the book she had found under her arm, Hermione crossed the room to her companion. Luna was holding an enormous tome bound in brain-tanned leather; some of the pages appeared to fold outward to show larger sketches. She leaned over the page of the open book in Luna’s lap, but recoiled as quickly as she had upon discovering Carissime's half-eaten dinner. "Is that kamasutra?"

Head tilted to the side with intrigue, Luna wondered, "What is kamasutra?"

Hermione could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "That, I think."

Luna examined the drawing of two women engaged in mutual carnal pleasures closely, and with a serene, almost clinical attitude. "If you mean it is a book about erotic rituals, then yes, I believe that is what this is."

_ Sweet Circe.  _ This was not a conversation Hermione had ever imagined having with Luna Lovegood, of all people. "While that's fine that you consider that interesting, I'm not sure that book will help me."

Yet at the same time, the words from the letter she had received less than two hours ago burned in the back of her mind:  _ You must remember, sex is a sacred act – a gateway – capable of reminding us that our bodies are vessels of immense power, and love. _

She could feel her blush deepening.

_ It can't hurt to look through the book... just in case? _

She was sure she was as red as a tomato. Still, she murmured, "I suppose it  _ might _ be useful. I can't imagine why Ravenclaw had this book, though. Surely it was very progressive for the 1100s…"

"I think Rowena preferred the company of women in her bed," Luna put in matter-of-factly.

Taken aback, Hermione queried, "Really?"

The Gryffindor nodded, her radish earrings bobbing as her head moved. "There is sufficient evidence in her journals to indicate it, though as far as I have read, she never openly says so.”

As Luna turned the page, a small scrap of parchment fell out and fluttered to the floor; Hermione bent to pick it up. It appeared to have been torn off of a larger sheaf at a crooked angle, as if in haste. The letters seemed to be in Rowena's own hand, and merely spelled out two words…

"Dedico Templum," Hermione read aloud.

As if it had been a password, a ladder descended from the ceiling. The girls' eyes followed it upward where it disappeared into a small trapdoor in the ceiling, the beyond of which was completely dark.

Both were silent for a long moment, staring at the new appearance in their midst. Finally, in a hushed voice, Luna encouraged, "I think you are meant to go up there."

Hermione squared her shoulders, her back ramrod straight with engineered bravado. In truth, she was nervous – but her inner Gryffindor would not allow her to give in to that weakness.

The ladder was made of a highly polished wood, which made the knots in it feel rougher under her hands as she climbed. When she got to the top of the ladder, she paused a moment. The chamber above was still completely dark.

"Something wrong?" her companion wondered from below. The book of erotic rituals was open to a very suggestive page of drawings in front of her, but was completely ignored for the moment.

"Nothing." It would have been too difficult to try to explain the overwhelming feeling that she was about to enter an extremely private place. With one mighty heave, Hermione pushed herself upward into the unknown.

It was less like entering a bedchamber and more like intruding upon a sanctuary. Tree boughs and vines twisted throughout the low dome of the walls and ceiling; Hermione felt as if she were no longer in Hogwarts castle, but rather in a clearing of some enchanted forest. In fact, she would not have been the least surprised if a unicorn had ambled through – though she had certainly had enough of unicorns to last a lifetime.

Twinkling throughout the room were actual live fairies, too numerous to count. These seemed to glitter in the boughs, flickering on and off like the lights of a strange and distant city. They appeared to shine all the brighter when they realized there was now a witness to their beauty, being creatures of natural vanity. Bolts of bronze-threaded samite were draped over some of the larger boughs, giving Rowena's bower a heavy sort of silence, shrouding the room in secrets. Hermione tried to place it and realized it was the same sort of monastery-like quietude that characterized the Stacks. Given Luna's revelation that the Stacks were somehow connected to Rowena's study, this did not surprise her. Regardless, the place had a very queer aura, as if she had entered a cocoon of significance.

The strangest thing about the chamber was how different it was from the study beneath her. Below was the sort of place Hermione would have expected to belong to Ravenclaw: covered in books, artifacts and extravagant furniture. It was a place for a creative genius to tinker with things that interested them, dealing mainly in history and theories. This loft-like space, however, was devoid of any furniture whatsoever. Besides the veritable forest that covered the walls and ceiling in nature, the only other thing in the small room was a pile of luxurious furs and pelts on the floor that seemed to act as a bed, somehow both queenly and also primitive.

Hermione bent to examine the furs and quickly realized the floor beneath was in fact made of grass. Curious, she bent to pick at the ground and discovered she was indeed walking on grass and dirt. Small blue flowers barely half the size of a knut dotted the forest floor throughout.

Amazed, her eyes raked over the ground below her when something else caught her eye. Getting down on her hands and knees, Hermione brushed aside the luxurious pelt of sable fur nearest her that edged the sleeping area. She let out an audible gasp and lifted the next pelt – a silky, silvery fur that might have belonged to a demiguise at one point – and then the next.

She was not mistaken. Beneath the sumptuous collection of furs that acted as a bed, was a very distinct mandala drawn over the grass of the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, the plot thickens... and in a nice, long chapter, too. Please forgive any mistakes you might have found in this installment, as I did not use a beta on it.
> 
> As always, I want to say a quick thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a comment in the little box below. Those people are superb.


	39. Dreamless Sleep

Unready as he was to face the day ahead of him, Draco had barely slept on the night after the incident with Pansy. Instead, he spent nearly three hours on the balcony by the base of Ravenclaw Tower, killing time and chain-smoking. He only finally retreated back to his dormitory when his warming charm had worn off and his hands had gone numb from the biting chill in the air.

Most of the rest of the night was spent lying awake and trying to block out Macmillan’s snores, while replaying his argument with Granger in his head. It was possible he found some sleep around three in the morning, but as it did not make him feel any better rested, he supposed it did not count.

Around five, he breakfasted early, despite having no appetite. Afterward, he bathed, but discovered he was riddled with pains even beyond his daily arthritis aches. In fact, his pulse had not stopped thrumming since his quarrel with Hermione the previous evening. He felt nearly blinded by his baffled passion. The world around him seemed at once dull, muted – but also garish. He could not bear the light and the noise.

He was dizzy as if Hermione had struck him like an angered fishwife.  _ So why didn't you get back together with Pansy once the war was over?  _ her shrill voice demanded.  _ If she was so important to you? _

Was he meant to explain to her just how highly he held Parkinson in contempt for her past actions? Should he have explained that it was  _ she _ – not him – that had ended things between them with her behavior? That it was in fact Pansy that had broken his heart?

Certainly not.

He called himself a fool for suffering.

Blaise and Theo met him on the semi-hidden balcony near the base of Ravenclaw Tower at their usual time.

"Smoke?" Blaise offered, his engraved silver lighter at the ready.

Out of leftover irritation toward Hermione, Draco accepted the cigarette and inhaled his first drag. It did not taste as good as the one the previous night had, though he tried to pretend otherwise.

"I saw you watching Sue Li at Quidditch practice yesterday," Theo casually started the conversation, eyes flickering to Zabini.

The corner of Blaise's mouth turned up into a semi-smirk and he took his time exhaling a miasma of smoke into the brisk December sky before responding, "I've had my eye on her for a couple of weeks now."

"Can't say I blame you. She's got a nice little shape to her, especially when she’s in her kit, zipping around the Quidditch Pitch."

Blaise's eyes narrowed.

"She went with Cornfoot to the Halloween Dance," Theo continued. "They're only friends."

Blaise nodded, looking thoughtful. "Wonder if she's ever danced with serpents?"

"Decidedly not," Theo answered with a snort, releasing smoke from his nostrils. "Mind you, she's half your size. She'd have more than enough serpent to deal with."

With a soft laugh and flashing eyes, the handsome, dark-skinned boy responded, "You're a fink, Nott."

_ Granger has never danced with serpents,  _ Draco thought distractedly. His lack of rest was beginning to get to him.  _ Until me. _

"You asleep, Malfoy?"

Theo snickered, "'Course he is, look at him. He's bleeding out from the eyes."

Draco flicked his spent cigarette to the ground, vanishing it with his wand. "I didn't sleep last night."

"Not sure how I  _ ever _ achieve it with Macmillan's snoring," Blaise put in disgustedly, taking the final drag of his own contraband. "I'd use a silencing charm on my bed if it wouldn't make me miss my alarm."

"Longbottom snores, too…"

Darkly, Blaise contradicted, "Not like this, he doesn't. Sounds like Head Git is gargling the Giant Squid's nutsack each night."

"Do Giant Squids have nutsacks?" Theo wondered, sniggering with glee.

With a smirk of his own, Draco suggested, "How about we throw you in the lake and you go find out?"

It was Blaise's turn to snicker.

Instead of being put off by this, Theodore finished his cigarette while miming what such a thing might look like. The three boys presently headed toward the Great Hall for breakfast. At the doors, Draco turned away and explained, "I've already eaten." To Theo he added, "I'll see you in Alchemy."

Once his companions disappeared inside for their meal, Draco took his time making his way to McGonagall's room though class would not begin for another forty minutes. Despite taking a short detour when he encountered Peeves wafting around sinisterly in the hall ahead, Draco still arrived twenty minutes early to class. He slid down the side of the wall, bookbag beside him, and waited.

It seemed he had only closed his eyes for a moment before the headmistress was striding down the hallway toward him. He shook himself, feeling the pull of sleep seducing his mind. McGonagall spotted him, unlocked the classroom and tersely greeted, "A bit early this morning I see, Mr. Malfoy."

He only shrugged and followed her in to begin the meticulous task of spreading his things across the desk he shared with Theo. When he had finished, he looked up and was disturbed to find the professor watching him.

The moment his gray-blue eyes locked onto her perceptive gaze, it was as if a switch had been flipped. She said only, "Mr. Malfoy…"

"Professor," he answered, tilting one pale eyebrow.

Draco thought she appeared tired under her strict façade. Recalling a rumor he had heard about their previous year, he knew McGonagall had rarely slept while Hogwarts had been under Snape's (and through him, Voldemort's) reign. It had been selectively reported that last year, a curiously marked tabby cat stood watch nearly every night in the Gryffindor common room.

Was she, too, still lying awake during the night, battling terrors of the past? Draco thought,  _ Perhaps we aren't so different... _

"Have there been any developments in your situation with Miss Granger I should know about?"

_ Straightforward and blunt: a true Gryffindor. Perhaps we are different, after all, _ he decided. He said, "Not at this moment."

"Do you require assistance in anything? May I be of help in some way?"

Did he need  _ help _ ?

At first, Draco could not place why that felt like such an odd query. It was a few moments before he realized it was because no one other than the late Severus Snape had ever asked him that question about something more serious than the service of ironing his trousers.

_ …Did _ he need help?

He glanced around the room to be sure they were alone. "There are still many questions I have no answers to about this mandala business."

The headmistress folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward ever so slightly. "I know Miss Granger recently took the names of some alchemists from outside of Europe and sent them letters asking for their opinions of the situation. Perhaps she has more information she might share."

_ When did she do that?  _ Draco could not remember her mentioning it. He only agreed, "Possibly."

"Just know that you may come to me if there is something you require."

Kevin Entwhistle’s arrival to class cut off their conversation. Perhaps it was fortunate timing, as Draco was not sure what he would have said, given a chance to reply.

He was dreading Hermione's arrival to class, worried she might react to him in some unfavorable way. Yet, the minutes ticked by and soon the entire class was assembled - but for Theo and Hermione.

_ There's no way that is a coincidence, _ Draco judged as the final warning bell rang. There was a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"Has anyone any indication if we will see Miss Granger or Mr. Nott this morning?" McGonagall quizzed the class.

No one offered up anything. Draco knew it was uncharacteristic of Hermione to be late, though perhaps it was not terribly surprising for Theo.

Just while the final bell for class was ringing, Theo sidled through the door and sauntered jauntily over to the double desk he shared with Draco.

"Welcome to class, Mr. Nott," McGonagall hinted.

There was a self-satisfied smirk plastered to his friend's face that immediately put Draco on his guard. "Thank you, professor."

"Do you perhaps have any information about why we might be missing Miss Granger this morning?"

"Hospital Wing. Lady problems, I think."

She tutted, but said nothing more on the subject. "Thank you, Mr. Nott. Kindly take your seat and we shall begin."

Draco's eyes narrowed as he glanced sidelong at his friend. He would eat his own blue-and-bronze uniform tie if Theo was not hiding something. ‘Lady problems’, indeed! As if his friend would have any cause to know about Hermione’s cycles. When McGonagall began barking out instructions, he whispered, "What's got you looking like the krup that got the Pygmy Puff?"

But Theo only mysteriously shook his head, his grin spreading.

Draco glanced toward the table Hermione always sat at. Rivers was alone, his quills, inkwell, parchment, and textbook neatly arranged on his half of the double desk as usual. Like the others, Draco could only flip to page 279 for the moment and trust that Theo would not be grinning like a fool if Hermione were in any actual trouble.

"Alchemy is the mother of chemistry," Professor McGonagall explained as a piece of chalk magically began printing a list of famous alchemists on the blackboard, "though it took a very long time getting there. Certain wizards have pulled the proverbial fleece over the eyes of both wizards and Muggles alike with their charlatan ways, Cagliostro being the most famous of these."

The scratching of seven quills was the only sound to be heard in the small classroom that morning. Draco glanced up at the blackboard, where the chalk was now inscribing dates next to the respective names. He copied down a date and inadvertently his eyes flickered again to Hermione's empty seat.

"The first wizard to discover the Elixir of Life," the professor continued, "was Nicholas Flamel in the mid-1400s. This set off a chain of events, soon leading to three successors in alchemical knowledge. The first was Paracelsus, who began as a student of Flamel's."

The magical chalk was scratching away at the blackboard –  _ tck, tck, tck, tck, tck _ – and Draco had to bend closely over his notes, squinting slightly, to determine he had got everything. He really needed his glasses, but was too proud to wear them; he might have felt differently if he had not spent so many years teasing Potter about his glasses…

"It was Paracelsus who discovered the importance of metals as key elements which make up the universe. He wrote that the human body was a chemical system, which had to be both internally balanced as well as balanced with its environment."

_ Granger is being stupid about the Parkinson thing, _ Draco thought angrily, especially since there was absolutely zero cause for jealousy. Truly, there were few people left living whom Draco held in higher contempt than Pansy Parkinson. In any case, Hermione would have done far more for an intoxicated Potter or Weasley… What he had done was just common decency…

"Soon after came the Benedictine monk, Basil Valentine, who learned his craft from Paracelsus. He wrote of the twelve keys of alchemy in the late 1500s…"

Why did the hat put Parkinson in Hufflepuff, though? It was surely enough to make any Slytherin suffer. One would actually rather go to Gryffindor, though the thought still made Draco shudder. He was not entirely sure how Nott had adapted so seamlessly, but the newly made Gryffindor had not complained much about his situation. He supposed anything was better than Theo having to live under his father's boot; even sleeping in the lion's den.

McGonagall droned on, "Last came the famous Comte de Saint-Germain. He was a true master of the Elixir of Life, creating metals and jewels, which he gave away as if they had little value – a dangerous activity considering how deeply he immersed himself in the lives of Muggles. He even accepted a place at the French royal court. Of these four men, the Comte may still be living, as he disappeared without a trace."

Draco would never forget the Sorting Hat's song from his fifth year. It was the first year he had actually listened to the words:

__ "Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those whose ancestry's purest.'  
__ Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose intelligence is surest.'  
_ Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those with brave deeds to their name.'  
_ __ Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot and treat them just the same.'"

And yet… despite that his ancestry was still pureblood, he – Draco Malfoy – had been placed elsewhere because it was no longer valuable to him. If he did not know Pansy well enough, he would have thought perhaps that was the reason she had been passed over for Slytherin this year, too.

He knew better.

"But how did these men build such an interesting dynasty, around which mystery and intrigue has followed them? They built upon knowledge gleaned from others. Subsequently, science has evolved from their discoveries."

Draco recalled watching Hermione put on the Sorting Hat this year, her voluminous curls spilling down her back and shoulders from under it, her eyes barely peeking out from under the brim. He had already known where she would end up, even before the hat announced, "RAVENCLAW!"

"An element cannot be broken down into something simpler: this we learn from Muggle chemistry. Compounds consist of two or more elements bound together."

He glanced over at the empty seat beside Rivers again.  _ Where is she? _

"Breaking down a chemical compound can be done one of two ways: heat and electricity…"

_ She is going to be livid she missed class today… _

"…meanwhile, solvents can be broken down using heat, acidity, radiation or humidity…"

Mentally, Draco gave himself a hearty slap.  _ Stop thinking about her. She's angry and wants nothing to do with you. _

"…as such, chemical decomposition is often an undesired reaction. According to modern science, the elements are no longer classical, but states of matter – solid, liquid, gas, and plasma. This makes it tricky when speaking of elemental disambiguation…"

Somehow, McGonagall's voice had become a drone-like hum in the background of his mind. The next thing he knew…

"Mr. Malfoy!"

He jerked back into the present.

"I must ask that you stay awake in my class, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall was reprimanding him. The rest of the class was staring.

"Sorry, professor." He had not even realized he had nodded off.

The stern headmistress was eyeing him with something dangerously close to understanding. Though her mouth was a thin line, she commanded, "To the Hospital Wing with you."

Because he was too exhausted to argue, Draco gathered his things as quickly as he could. He did not even have the wherewithal to think up a place he might go instead of seeing the school nurse.

Madam Pomfrey clucked over him like a mother hen for a few moments, which grated on his last nerve. She bemoaned sympathetically, "I see it all the time, these days: nightmares, insomnia, anxiety. Do you have any afternoon classes?"

He shook his head.

The nurse poured some steaming purple potion from a corked decanter into a goblet. Placing the remainder of the vial on the counter, she handed him the goblet.

"What's this?" he inquired, fairly certain he already knew the answer.

"Dreamless sleep potion. You can pick one of those beds down there and have a bit of a lie in. You do look like you're overdue for it if I may say so, Mr. Malfoy. I'll wake you for dinner."

Because Draco truly was exhausted, he picked a hospital bed toward the back, allowed Madam Pomfrey to pull the curtains around him, and downed the whole gobletful.

.

.

"Hello, Draco."

He glanced up to see Daphne sliding onto the bench across from him at the table. He greeted, "Greengrass."

Dinner had just begun. Having missed lunch while asleep in the Hospital Wing, Draco arrived early to the Great Hall. While he was not sure if he was better rested, he was certainly less tired than he had been before the Dreamless Sleep potion.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

"You already are, whether I mind or not," he quipped. "But I suppose I do not mind that you do."

She chuckled quietly to herself, reaching for the plate of roasted potatoes and serving herself a generous helping. "Still the same old bastard, I see."

He inclined his head, "Of course."

"Here I thought your witch would have talked some manners into you."

Sticking his nose arrogantly into the air, Draco gazed at her through half-lidded eyes and drawled, "There is no one to talk to me about my manners – which, I may remind you, are impeccable."

"Riiiight."

He knew that she knew… but he would be damned before he confirmed it to her.

Sensing his direction of thought, Daphne assured him, "I haven't told her that I know, if that makes you feel any better."

_ Of course you haven't, _ he scoffed inwardly,  _ you'll wait until the information is useful before playing your hand.  _ Outwardly, he said only, "Your Slytherin is showing, Greengrass."

Daphne smiled sweetly at him.

It actually helped that Daphne knew. She had covered for him last Wednesday when the eighth years had been filing out of Potions. Potter and Weasley had gone ahead, while Hermione exited right behind them – and right in front of Draco. She stumbled the first step out of the classroom and Draco had placed his hand on the small of her back to steady her. Her sharp eyes missing nothing, Daphne stepped in front of them to prevent any of the other students noticing his faux pas.

Why Greengrass had done it, Draco had no idea, but he was grateful nonetheless.

Just then, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team entered the Great Hall for dinner, dressed in their canary yellow robes. The room erupted into cheers and even a few catcalls.

_ The game! _ Draco had completely forgotten Hufflepuff was to play Gryffindor that evening. Not that he was much invested in the house championship these days, no longer being on any Quidditch team himself. To Daphne, he murmured, "I suppose your beau will be playing tonight…"

"Of course."

Ron Weasley, whose vibrant red hair clashed heinously with the yellow of his robes, broke off from the main of his team and conducted a quick scan of the room before spotting Daphne sitting at the Ravenclaw table. His eyebrows furrowed when he took note of her companion.

"Speaking of, here comes lover boy," Draco warned in a low voice.

When he approached, Weasley refused even to look at Draco. "Come sit with me, Daph. You don't have to spend time with  _ him _ ."

"Draco is my friend," Daphne replied as calmly as if he had brought up the weather.

"I'm your boyfriend!"

"Yes," she agreed, "and you are welcome to sit with us if your attitude improves."

"You must be mental,” Ron muttered under his breath. Then, eyes flickering to Draco for the first time, he cautioned, “Make sure you keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy.” He stomped off to join the rest of his team at the Hufflepuff table, his face screwed up in disgust.

"How can you spend time with him?" Draco wanted to know.

Haltingly, as if she were no longer sure, Daphne answered, "He's sweet. Most of the time."

"Really?" he questioned sarcastically, his eyebrow lifting skeptically.

His companion was now staring mournfully at her plate of potatoes instead of eating them. Placing her fork neatly on the table as if she had already eaten her fill, she folded her hands in her lap. "There weren't as many conflicts from our families as I expected. Mother and father weren't pleased, of course – I expect I will hear some more about it when I go home for break... but, well, Ron's quite famous at this point, you know."

"I am painfully aware, I assure you."

Wringing her hands in her lap, Daphne continued, "Hermione told me a story about him from their first year when the Philosopher's Stone was hidden at Hogwarts. Apparently, she, Ron, and Harry broke through the enchantments protecting it, but they couldn't have done it without Ron."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Really. He beat McGonagall's enchanted chess set by sacrificing himself and it was because he was really good at chess, not because he was Potter's best friend."

Draco continued eating his dinner in silence.

"Have you ever heard of anything so Gryffindor?" she pressed.

" _ Very _ Gryffindor," he agreed irritably. He could not help but glance around the tables within his range of vision to try catching sight of Granger.

"Hermione told me," Daphne went on, "that it was the first moment she respected Ron. They never were as close as she was with Potter…"

"I hope you aren't going to wax on about how great Potter is next," he growled. He could not see Hermione in the Great Hall, though he refused to turn around to check if she were at the Gryffindor table behind him; Daphne would be sure to make a comment.

"Of course not. But I would have thought you'd be trying to get to know them both better," she hinted. "They're Hermione's best friends, after all…"

"Keep whatever thoughts you might have about that in your head where they belong, Greengrass," he hissed.

She shrugged. "What did Ron mean when he warned you to keep your hands to yourself?"

Draco could feel his face heating up against his will. Memory of the last time he had come face-to-face with Weasley flooded back to him… that day in the empty classroom when Hermione's two best friends had walked in on them both…

As if sensing the need for backup – and perhaps he had – Theo chose that moment to slide onto the bench beside him. "Malfoy. Greengrass."

"Theodore," Daphne greeted, her eyes flickering from Draco to the new arrival. "Your timing is perfection: I have a bone to pick with you."

"You generally do, Daph."

"Why is it you decided to mess around with my little sister after the Halloween Dance – and providing her with alcohol beforehand, to boot – and then haven't spoken to her since?"

"Ah," Theo sighed tragically, selecting a hefty slice of chicken and mushroom pie. "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

"I am asking the question, Nott, and you had better say your prayers if you dare lie to me. That's my little sister you've gone and messed around with. Now you're ignoring her, and I demand a reason."

While she did not eat any more of her dinner, Daphne certainly used her mouth for bickering noisily with Theo. She was adroit at navigating a sticky conversation, but Theodore excelled at talking in circles. In the end, Draco was sure he was getting a headache from the repartee and was glad when the entire school began to flock from the hall out toward the Quidditch Pitch.

He experienced a moment of indecision wherein he debated going out to watch the game despite that he knew Hufflepuff would murder Gryffindor. The lions were dreadful this year. However, since he usually only went up into the Ravenclaw stands to watch  _ Hermione _ watch the game, he thought it might be best to skip it.

In a moment of smug rebellion, he made his way up to the balcony near the base of Ravenclaw Tower and pulled out his packet of cigarettes.

Before he could light one, he heard from behind, "Malfoy."

It was the voice that grated on him the most of any in the world, and he would know it anywhere. He did not even need to turn around. "Come to spy on the ex-Death Eater, eh, Potter?"

The Boy Who Lived said nothing – just stood at the entrance to the balcony with his arms crossed over his chest, watching Draco from behind those stupid round spectacles.

_ Surely he's rich enough to be able to afford a new pair of glasses, _ Draco inwardly scoffed as he turned to face his former nemesis. "I suppose you found me using that bloody map of yours…"

This seemed to strike a nerve, as Potter's jaw tightened at the mention of it.

"Where did you come by that thing, anyway?"

"It was my father's," the black-haired wizard explained brusquely. "Look, Malfoy, I know you and I don't like one another…"

_ Another bloody Gryffindor, just charging right to the point.  _ He supposed this was the backlash of being involved with Granger: the number of Gryffindors in his life these days was astounding.

"…but Hermione is really important to me. I love her."

Draco's heart stopped for a moment. "What the bloody hell do you mean,  _ you love her _ ?"

It was possibly the spice of terror in this demand that made Harry nod slightly, as if Draco had passed some test. ( _ Perhaps there is a small bit of Slytherin in him, after all… a VERY small bit _ ). "She's the sister I always wanted. In many ways she's the closest thing I have to family." Potter gathered his breath as if he had prepared a speech for this moment. "I'm willing to trust you... if you can convince me that it's possible."

Eyes narrowed, Draco doubted, "Why?"

"Because Hermione is important to me. Trust me, this isn't public service. I am giving you this single chance for the sole fact that you didn't kill Dumbledore when the moment came."

Aghast, Draco supposed he ought to have known Potter would know the details of that night. "How do you know about that?"

"I was there."

"So was I, Potter. You weren't there. I would have remembered."

"I was hidden below on Dumbledore's orders. I saw you corner him and admit to the assignment Voldemort gave you. Dumbledore offered you and your family asylum and you began to lower your wand. That was when the rest of the Death Eaters – Bellatrix, Greyback and the others – showed up… and Snape…"

Draco could say nothing for the moment.

"I don't think you would have killed him," Potter concluded.

Unsticking his throat, which had gone a bit tight with the unwelcome memory of that horrible night on the Astronomy Tower, Draco could only reply, "You're lucky, Potter. Your father left you nice things like enchanted maps and invisibility cloaks. Mine left me only scars."

Harry snarked, "Not to mention an entire fortune."

Irritably, Draco shook his head, "That money is not my father's, nor is it mine. It belongs to the Malfoy family as a whole."

"Sorry, I'm not up-to-date on my pureblood inheritance studies," the other wizard quarreled.

"Perhaps you should try to understand things a bit better before you make snide comments based solely on conjecture."

"That's rich, coming from you."

Draco spat bitterly, "Specky git."

Drawing himself up without a shred of indignance, Harry demanded, "What are your intentions toward Hermione?"

Draco fell silent again for the moment.

"I know your family is in need of major social redemption. How do I know this mess you've involved her in isn't a part of some hare-brained scheme of yours?"

Fiercely, he retorted, "By remembering that Granger is the brightest witch of her age and not some silly schoolgirl."

Harry crossed his arms across his chest and observed his former rival keenly. "You didn't used to think so."

Again, Draco said nothing.

He pressed, "What changed?"

With a jerk of his head, as if it pained him to admit it, he answered, "Everything changed." With a deep sigh, he continued, "Look, Potter, I don't make speeches. I'm not going to tell you I've always harbored a secret love for her despite my past prejudices, or some other bollocks that we both know isn't true…"

"But?"

"But I do… care... for her. In my own way." Draco turned away, indicating the matter was now closed between them.

"Oddly enough, that's one of the most reassuring things you could have said."

Draco rolled his eyes, cognisant that Potter could not see his reaction.

"I still don't like you," Harry told him, “but that’ll do for now.” 

Pulling a cigarette from his packet and lighting it, Draco took a deep drag and expelled a gust of white smoke into the air. "The feeling is mutual, Potter."

.

.

In the end, Draco could not bring himself to attend the Quidditch match. His arthritis was acting up worse than usual and his run-in with Potter had put him in a foul mood. It did not seem worth it to make the climb all the way to the top of the Ravenclaw stands when he had no interest in the match, and even if Hermione was in attendance, he was avoiding her. There was no cause to exacerbate things between them.

Though there were very few students roaming the hallways during the Quidditch match, Draco was still thankful that it was not out of character for him to saunter slowly through the corridors. His bones were on fire, his knees and hips felt as if they had been wrenched from their sockets and stuffed roughly back together by someone in a great hurry. He took his time getting up to Ravenclaw Tower. There was no one on the landing when he finally reached the top of the staircase.

The eagle head guardian in the center of the door prompted, "I am something all men have, but all men deny. Man created me, but no man can hold me."

He was not in the mood to answer a riddle, but was less in the mood to sit on the landing until another person came along to answer the question for him. Quiet as a whisper, he heard Hermione's voice in his ear,  _ Break it down. _

_ Go away, _ he thought at the voice, still miffed at her.

A loud meow by his feet captured his attention. The first thing he saw was a bushy, orange tail brushing against his calf. The rest of Crookshanks materialized by winding himself between Draco's legs and looking up at him with big yellow eyes. Draco had never been a cat person. Exhaling a deep sigh through his nose, he nonetheless reached down to scratch the cat's head.

"You're rather useless," he told Crookshanks. "I bet you don't even know the answer to this stupid riddle."

Crookshanks only blinked contentedly at him in response, kneading the air with one front paw.

"Why she keeps you around, I will never understand."

Padding toward the door, the cat now brushed against it and looked expectantly up at Draco.

"I'm trying, you foolish creature."

_ Something all men have, but all deny. Man created it, but none can hold it. _

Crookshanks yowled a second time, a deep, bossy sort of meow that slightly echoed in the altitudinous tower. Draco muttered, "Just like your mistress… pushy…"

_ You're not really angry with her. You're angry with yourself. _

All men have it, but all deny it…

_ Your anger with yourself comes from fear. _

…Man created it, but none can hold it.

_ You're afraid. Afraid that you will have her, then lose her. _

Swallowing heavily, Draco told the eagle head, "The answer is fear."

The guardian nodded in acquiescence and the door swung inward to admit him. Without so much as a backward glance in his direction, Crookshanks sauntered into the common room before him as if he owned the place... but Draco was still perturbed. If he married Hermione, would this be what the entirety of the next year was like? Being constantly afraid he would lose her? That losing her would be perfectly acceptable and okay?

There was a time he might have scoffed at the idea, but now it settled heavily in his belly and left his insides feeling cold and twisted.

Stepping into the common room, Draco spotted the very witch in question curled up in a sky-blue armchair nestled into a nook by the fire, a book on her lap. Her cat was loyally brushing against her legs.

Hermione had fallen asleep curled up in the armchair while the rest of the school was watching the Quidditch game. Crookshanks settled himself into an orange wheel of fur on the bookbag by her feet, her lap being otherwise occupied by a tome that was sliding from her fingers as she slept. Her cheek was rather ungracefully pressed against the cushion of the armchair, her mouth slightly open. The moonlight of early evening rendered her skin smooth and pale, though the few freckles dusting her nose stood out in sharp contrast because of it. Draco noticed her bangs were in need of a trim, obscuring her eyebrows and falling almost into her eyes.

It was easy to lose track of time in Ravenclaw Tower; the vaulted ceiling was painted with stars like the night sky, high above their heads. It was cavern-like with beautiful blue-and-bronze drapes that wafted in the breezes passing through the many-paned windows. The midnight carpet was the same sort of distant blue as the Scottish mountains that fenced the school grounds from far away. Hermione had not been the first to fall asleep with a book on her lap in this room, nor, Draco suspected, would she be the last.

He wondered where she had been that morning that was so important she would miss class…

Carefully, he lifted the book from her loose fingers and positioned it neatly on the small table beside her. He rescued her quill from the floor, where it was in danger of being sat on by Crookshanks. The top was off her inkwell on the little table beside her, so he screwed the cap on to prevent it drying out in her inattendance. He placed the quill and inkwell tidily beside the book on the table. Crookshanks observed this process from his place by his mistress' feet but made no remark.

_ Go to bed,  _ he told himself firmly.  _ Sleep now while they're all at the match. _

Heading up the stairs that led into the eighth year boys' dormitory, Draco readied himself for bed despite the still-early hour. Reaching into the pockets of the robes he had worn that day, he pulled out a small vial. It contained a fair bit of dreamless sleep potion he had nicked from the Hospital Wing when Madam Pomfrey's back was turned.

_ You're an idiot. It does you no good to get too attached to Granger. Remember what happened with Parkinson? _

Pulling the curtains of his four-poster around him, Draco carefully stored his wand by his pillow. Downing a mouthful from the stolen vial that seemed to be roughly the same dosage Pomfrey had given him earlier, it was less than a few moments before blissful repose began to carry him softly away.

_ The difference is, when Hermione leaves, it will be worse for you because you won't blame her when she does... _

He slept like the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating - I bought a house!
> 
> Loads and loads and loads (more loads than all the laundry I have to do!) of smooshy thanks to everyone who left me a comment or kudo thusfar. I know I don't respond to everyone individually, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it.
> 
> Another thing that is insane and wonderful and a little surreal? Having a fantastic beta to help me polish this story and smooth out its wrinkles. Seriously, I_was_BOTWP, thank you... you are a gem of a human being and a great friend. All the love.


	40. Four Options

**** "Morning, Hermione," Ginny chirped at breakfast on Saturday morning. She was piling sausages and eggs onto her plate in a mountainous heap reminiscent of Ron, squirting catsup onto the lot. "There's an owl just arrived for you."

She pointed to a willowy barn owl, demurely perched on the end of the table with a letter, preening patiently and occasionally showing off her freckled breast. Hermione accepted the envelope from the unfamiliar bird, releasing her from her charge. The owl took off in the direction of the owlery shortly thereafter.

The letter turned out to be the last of the responses from the alchemists Hermione had written. It had come from Mozambique and was comprised of a series of brusque scrawls, as if the person composing the letter was unused to writing down English words on paper:

__ We have a concept in my native tongue: ifilosofi kuqala. It is prima material. Earth's first matter.  
__ The basic material required for creating ifilosofi kuqala can create or destroy all things made into existence by man. It can individuate – distinguish a physical thing from another thing. Ifilosofi kuqala is the sure option for you.  
__ Binding ceremonies like what you describe are not unheard of here. They are sometimes purposely performed to show devotion to one's life partner.  
__ It is not always possible for a sorcerer to create ifilosofi kuqala, so a second binding is made at the time of the first. This second bond can be undone by the dissolving of blessed state of marriage. If the blessing is performed correctly, it should untie any remaining magical bindings. This is an imperfect, but far simpler answer.  
_ Inhlanhla abe nawe.  
_ __ -Ayize

Harry leaned over Hermione's shoulder to read the reply and, looking hopeful, queried, "Good news?"

"No," she sighed, handing over the letter for him to peruse on his own. "Quintessence or divorce… again."

Harry exchanged a look with Ginny, who was peering across the table with interest at the letter in her boyfriend's hands. She offered, "Harry and I both have the morning free. We can go with you to the library after breakfast to help with research."

"We can, Hermione," Harry confirmed. His eyes flickered to the Hufflepuff table where Ron was sitting with the rest of his Quidditch team. The Hufflepuffs were still celebrating their win over Gryffindor the previous evening. Hermione had not attended the game - she had instead fallen asleep in her common room, exhausted from her adventure - but she heard it had been another stunning defeat.

Not feeling very hopeful, Hermione glanced again at the letter in Harry's hands and tried to put on a brave face as she accepted. "Thank you."

.

.

Harry and Ginny were as good as their word. Following breakfast, they all made their way to the library. Hermione gave instructions on which topics to research and the three of them split off into separate directions.

When she was sure her friends were out of sight, she surreptitiously snuck over to a little-used section to seek out the book about pureblood families, which she had flipped through weeks ago. The book was old and musty-looking as before, but she turned with renewed interest to the brief chapter detailing the history of the Malfoy family.

It was as cut and dry as it had been on her last perusal: one male heir per generation kept the family's name and vast fortune intact. No female children had been born in the past fourteen generations, and none of those generations had produced more than one child. It was almost boring. Nearly every other pureblood family from the Sacred Twenty-Eight had at one point or another, contributed a daughter for marriage – including, Hermione noted with some interest, Octavia Weasley in 1616.

There were no divorces.

_ I would be the first: first Muggle-born wife, first divorce. _

While she was still upset with Draco from the debacle with Parkinson on their Thursday patrol, she now harbored less of a burning rage and more of a low simmer. He was hiding something from her about his past with Pansy… and truth be told, it was  _ this _ that bothered Hermione more than the past itself. After all, she technically had a past with Ron but she certainly was not hiding it…

_ What is he keeping from me? _

She was mildly surprised when a second voice in the back of her mind accompanied her antipathy:  _ Draco is not obligated to tell you everything about his life. Look at the mess you've got into with him – he didn't chose this any more than you did. _

It was true that Hermione did feel some small measure of guilt about how they had parted on Thursday.  _ He didn't need to dismiss me like that. I have already given him so much – how could I be so stupid? _

But yet another contradicting opinion reminded her that Draco had given her back nearly as much...

Falteringly, she could only conclude,  _ I already care about him more than I should. _

_ Would it be so bad if I married him? _

_ Yes! Everything is still so new! What if it all went terribly wrong and the marriage destroyed our relationship - or whatever it is we have - because it was moving too fast? _

A voice so small it was almost nonexistent probed further,  _ What if it doesn't? _

_ No marriage can work when there is such a blatant lack of trust between both parties involved, and Draco is hiding something already. How can I tie myself to someone who isn't open with me?  _ The internal conversation seemed only to exacerbate the inner disquiet that had permeated her entire being for the past 36 hours.

_ You could have sex with him; there's a possibility that's actually the answer. You wouldn't even have to go through a marriage and divorce with him if it worked. _

_ Absolutely not. Out of the question. _

The devil's advocate insisted,  _ It would be a big step for him, too. A first for both of you. At least there is that. _

The truth was, the idea of having sex with Draco was both intriguing and frightening. But what kind of person gave away their virginity for such a reason?

There was a part of her heart that was repulsed by the entire idea. Years ago, Dr. Natalie Granger had sat down to discuss sex with her blushing thirteen-year-old daughter. In that conversation she stressed that saving intercourse for marriage was preferable, but that if she chose not to wait, Hermione should at least be sure she cared deeply about the other person.

_ I am not in love with Draco,  _ Hermione knew.  _ Having sex with him for results feels too much like using my body as a part of a research experiment. _

On the other hand… there was no denying there was another part of her… a secret part… that reflected on her recent experiences with Draco… their trysts in the Trophy Room and high in the stands above the Quidditch Pitch… and a fire seemed to light between her thighs. She could imagine his stormy gray-blue eyes coming toward her, dark with passion. He would capture her mouth with his own hungry lips, surprisingly soft and insistent. His pale skin would be flushed with anticipation as his heated body pressed against hers.

Hermione had taken his member in her hands and in her mouth before, so she was familiar with the shape and length of his most intimate part. If they took things a step further…

"What are you doing, Hermione?"

She shut the pureblood ledger with a snap, cognizant of the blush she could feel creeping along her cheeks and neck. "Oh, nothing. Just looking – I haven't had any luck. Have you?"

Ginny eyed the book in her friend's hand suspiciously (Hermione shifted her grip as to obscure the title), but replied with only, "Harry thinks he might have found something."

Following her friend back to their library table, she noted the book in Harry's hand. Before he could even speak, Hermione shook her head. "I've already looked through that one."

Harry looked crestfallen. "I should've known."

"Hermione, what happens if you do nothing?" Ginny asked thoughtfully.

Glumly, she answered, "I'm stuck with this foul tattoo on my arm forever."  _ Not to mention the arthritis.  _ "And the  _ Sectumsempra _ scar across my front, among others."

Harry's gaze snapped up to confirm, "There's a scar from that?"

Hermione verified this by making a line with her finger from the edge of her collarbone down to her opposite hipbone.

Immediately appearing ashamed, he grumbled, "That never should have happened…"

It was likely because she sensed an oncoming bout of Harry's often-deep depression that Ginny promptly changed the subject. "You missed another great story night with the Bloody Baron last night, Hermione – didn't she, Harry?"

"Er, yeah," he muttered despondently.

Picking up the book Harry had selected, Hermione flipped idly through it, more to make him feel better than because she was hopeful of its contents. "Oh?"

Rubbing Harry's forearm in a soothing way, Ginny simultaneously explained, "Yeah, someone got lucky in the Trophy Room on Thursday night…"

Hermione blanched.

"…Although the Baron unfortunately didn't see who it was since they left a few seconds before he got there." Pausing a moment, Ginny surveyed her friend with sudden suspicion. "Are you alright, Hermione? You seem pale."

_ Breathe, Hermione… in and out… breathe in… breathe out… oh dear Merlin, not in the library… _

"Hermione?" Harry's voice seemed muted, far away.

_ Breathe in… _

"Are you okay?"

_ …Breathe out. _

Distantly, Ginny commanded, "Hermione,  _ breathe _ !"

It was no use.

_ You can't keep burying whatever that was, Granger,  _ Draco's voice murmured in her ear, the only clear sound in an environment of increasing static.  _ You need to learn to compartmentalize… or you'll end up like a Russian doll: built-up layers over layers, protecting nothing but an empty shell on the inside. _

"Should I get Madam Pomfrey?" Harry was asking.

_ Anything but that! Hermione… you just… need… to breathe… in… and out… in… _

Someone was rubbing circles on her back, slow and steady, like Draco had that day in the corridor outside the headmistress' office. A foreign sound like a sob and a hiccup together echoed in the passages of Hermione's mind - like she had not even been the one to make that noise - though she knew she had.

Ginny was saying, "I think she's almost done…" Her voice was coming in and out of focus, like an antique radio dial being adjusted for clarity. "Hermione? I want to help you."

Another strangled sob-hiccup passed from Hermione’s lips, and the first solid thought she retained was that she really just wanted to be alone in that moment. The library, for the first time, was oppressive. The towers of books – which had always been beloved benefactors of knowledge to be frequently sought out – were suddenly caving in on her… almost like they meant to bury her in multiplying treasure… almost like they meant to burn her skin…

"I need… out of here," she managed to choke out.

"Right." Ginny took charge. "Harry, grab Hermione's things. We're going into the hallway right now. Catch up with us."

In a manner that was somehow both no-nonsense but also calm and nurturing, Ginny seemed to be channeling her mother as she supported Hermione out of the library and into the hall beyond. Luckily, the corridor was mainly deserted. In the openness of the castle passage, Hermione felt her wits slotting back, bit by bit, into their proper places. Colors slid back into focus and her surroundings seemed less shrouded in static noise.

"Sorry about that," Hermione muttered to her friend once her heart rate began to steady.

"Don't be ridiculous." Though the words seemed brusque, the manner in which Ginny said them were anything but.

Swallowing heavily, Hermione discovered she had been crying without even realizing it. She wiped hastily at her face and eyes. Ginny was still rubbing circles on her back. "I don't get panic attacks as often as I did in the weeks after… you know… but they still sneak up on me sometimes."

Harry joined them then, carrying Hermione's overstuffed bookbag. "Sorry it took me a few... you have a lot of things, Hermione. I really think you should go to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey has some soothing solutions that might help."

She shook her head. "No, that isn't necessary. Thank you for getting my things."

Instead of arguing, Harry seemed to understand. He compromised, "Well, you may want to lie down a bit. I don't exactly get panic attacks like yours, but I do sometimes have nightmares. It helps to pull the curtains, cast a  _ silencio _ on your bed, and sit quietly for a few minutes."

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione flung her arms around her best friend. "I think that's exactly what I need. But… I feel bad… you and Ginny offered to help me this morning…"

"Your mental health is more important," he insisted, patting her back awkwardly while she hugged him. "Besides, it's not like you have to solve this tomorrow. Honestly, I think going home for Christmas break will do you some good."

For a brief moment, Hermione's heart rate fluttered erratically at the offhanded mention of her secret deadline.

"Come on," Ginny encouraged, "we'll walk you to Ravenclaw Tower."

The three friends climbed up five staircases together, taking their time as they meandered down the corridors toward the eagle's nest. All the while, Ginny kept up a near-constant stream of idle chatter, though she did not bring up the Bloody Baron's weekly stories again. While Hermione appreciated her friend's attempts to cheer her, she felt somehow both utterly spent and restless at once. Harry seemed to be keeping a very close eye on her.

After making short work of the riddle at the door, Hermione bid her friends good-bye. Being a blustery Saturday and not a nice day for walking about the grounds, the commons were relatively crowded. Making her way straight through the throng, she kept her head down to avoid being accosted by her house mates.

The eighth year girls' dorm was mercifully empty. As Harry suggested, she pulled the curtains on her four poster and cast a  _ silencio _ . Instead of sitting quietly however, she pulled out the book she had taken from Rowena's study on her most recent adventure there with Luna.

Now that she had received all the responses she was expecting from the alchemists she contacted – not to mention the incredible amount of research she had done on her own – Hermione now knew there were four options before her…

First, they could try to create quintessence. As this was the basis for the most sought-after substance in the breadth of human existence, correctly concocting the magic was highly improbable. Even if she and Draco took this route, there was no guarantee they would succeed – and it would most likely take up a huge portion of their lives to do so.

_ This is not a viable option _ , she concluded.  _ Not for our purposes. _

She crossed it off her mental list.

Second, she and Draco could get married and then divorce in a year. While it was not certain this option would prove absolutely successful, it was probable that it would. Not to mention, it was relatively expedient compared with the previous alternative…

_ I don't completely trust him. He's hiding something from me. Then again _ , she reminded herself sensibly,  _ this would not be a marriage based on things like trust and honesty _ .  _ It would be a marriage for a single purpose, to be dissolved in a year and a day. _

The third option maintained that they could procure the laughably rare and extremely expensive Adder's Fork, then use Dark magic to split themselves back into two. This came with all of the risks that went along with using Dark magic of any kind; Hermione knew there was a chance it would damage her magical core irreparably. There was also the possibility that it would be an imperfect split, despite that there had been at least one case of this method successfully working in the past, according to Salazar Slytherin's alchemy journal.

_ This should be a last resort only, _ she reaffirmed nervously.  _ Only if nothing else works… and that's assuming we can even get our hands on an Adder's Fork. _

The final alternative was for them to take the advice of the alchemists from India. Hermione ran her hands along the spine of the book she had borrowed from Rowena's study. She had already read, and twice re-read, the chapter regarding sexual magic since Thursday night.

They could create a mandala like the one she had discovered in Rowena's secluded bower. The ideal time for such a coupling would be on the Spring equinox, as it was representative of nature experiencing rebirth. The results of any sexual rituals would be at peak power. This conveniently fell at the end of March, only a few months away. Additionally, since they were both virgins, it would add to the awakening of sexual magic, therefore - hopefully - allowing them to overcome their accidental bond.

While certainly the easiest way out, if it were successful at all, every fiber of Hermione's being rebelled against it the longer she thought about it.

It felt  _ wrong _ to give away her virginity, and to take Draco's, because of an alchemy accident rather than because she loved him. Perhaps if she was someone else - a different Hermione, with different values - she might be able to entertain the idea, but she tried to imagine even just  _ telling _ him of this fourth option, and her stomach began to churn. In the back of her mind, her mother's voice from years ago reminded her only to give her body to someone she truly cared about.

_ I do care about Draco… _

But she did not love him. She had known for some time that she wanted to be in love with the person she shared her first time with.

She closed her eyes to imagine those slate-gray eyes coming closer toward her. She thought of his soft lips on hers, cherishing her mouth. Then, she pictured shedding all her clothing for him whilst in the middle of a mandala of Salt, baring her body to him out of hope and duty… allowing him to penetrate her for the first time because it was a way out.

Her blood ran cold.

_ Many things can be forced out of duty, but not the heart, _ she concluded.

With some regret, she crossed this, too, off her mental list of options.

This left her with only one course of action which she felt she could condone.  _ So it seems I will marry Draco after all… _

The marriage would be a binding in name only, as Narcissa had repeatedly warned. Then, as Draco said, they could get their divorce and part ways, as if it had never happened.

_ Could we really? _ the practical part of her mind demanded.  _ Can you honestly tie yourself to Draco and not come to care for him even more than you do now? _

It was lucky Harry had talked her into returning to her dormitory, because a second, smaller panic attack took control of her in the privacy of her closed curtains.

.

.

On Sunday, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny visited Hagrid around lunchtime. The gamekeeper greeted them enthusiastically and treated them to what he claimed were stoat sandwiches. These, they did not eat, instead surreptitiously slipping Fang chunks of their helpings when Hagrid was not looking. While Ron's voracious appetite was unappeased by the arrangements, Fang certainly had no complaints.

After Hagrid finished telling them all about some of the new creatures he had acquired for his classes, Quidditch was covered extensively by Harry, Ginny, and Ron.

Hagrid indulged them smilingly when Ron gave a blow-by-blow account of the last game, in which Hufflepuff had steamrollered Gryffindor. Ginny followed this up by gloating over how dreadful the lions had become at the sport now that none of those present were on the team any longer. Harry then speculated over the outcome of the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin match that would take place after Christmas break, before Ron moved on to speaking about his new girlfriend.

"She's beautiful and funny," he daydreamed sappily, forgetting to not take a bite of his stoat sandwich in his inattendance. His face darkened somewhat, "But she was Slytherin before the re-sorting, so she hangs around with an iffy crowd…"

"Not all Slytherins are bad, Ron," Hagrid admonished fairly as he served his guests tea from a gigantic copper kettle. "A few o' 'em were alrigh'… I've got the younger Greengrass sister i' my sixth year class an' she's a bright 'un. Used ter have a lot o' energy… very chatty like… bit quiet this year…" Scratching at his hairy chin, he added, "Tha' Tracey Davis from yer year is a nice girl, too. She's a Gryffindor now."

"I think the re-sorting has brought out the best in a lot of people," Hermione put in optimistically as she added a lump of sugar to her steaming mug, " _ especially _ some of the Slytherins."

"Ar," Hagrid contradicted darkly, "some o' 'em, maybe. But some o' them other ones, there's no hope for… that Malfoy boy, for one. I've always said: no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter. Bad blood is what i' 'tis."

Automatically, Hermione opened her mouth to protest, “I’m sure even Malfoy has his good points. Perhaps we merely aren’t privy to them.”

Ron rolled his eyes.

“Yeh’ve always had a soft heart, Hermione,” Hagrid replied, looking at her fondly, “an’ it does yeh credit.”

“Once a snake, always a snake,” Ron cut in acerbically. It left no room for doubt who he was referring to when he added, “At least for some.”

"Hey!" Ginny protested, giving her brother’s shoulder a shove. “Watch it, you. Some of us actually  _ like _ being snakes. Besides, I look a sight better in my green Quidditch robes than you do in that ghastly yellow.”

That lightened the mood considerably, as all those present could not help but laugh. Still, there was a tang of bitterness to Hermione’s thoughts as she hid her expression behind her enormous mug of tea.

_ I can do this,  _ she told herself firmly.  _ Hagrid and Ron are allowed their own opinions, just as you are allowed your own actions. My situation is not about anyone else but myself and Draco… _

Yet, her heart sank just the same.

.

.

As Head of Ravenclaw House, Professor Flitwick appeared in the Great Hall on Monday with a sign-up list for those who wished to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. The sight of it being passed from hand-to-hand down the breakfast table tied Hermione's stomach into knots with anxiety.

"Only one week left of classes before break!" Ginny exulted. Slughorn's list for the Slytherins to sign was passed to her from the opposite direction. Ginny took the list, glanced at it, then sent it along without signing it.

Malfoy's words were burned into the back of her mind:  _ If we haven't found another viable option by Christmas… _

"Harry's going to be staying with us over Christmas break, Hermione. Mum wants to know if you'll be staying, too," Ginny was saying.

_ Granger, you know as well as I do there's no point in waiting any longer. Can you imagine explaining to your future employer that you're married, but only for another six months? You can take six months after school to travel, get divorced, then pretend it never happened. _

"Sorry, I already promised my parents I would be staying home over break," she replied truthfully. "I think they're still a bit shaken up from the Obliviation thing."

"But you can come for Christmas dinner, right?" Ginny pressed.

"Wouldn't miss it."

The list of Ravenclaw students who would be staying for the holidays had come to her at last. Most of the names listed there were students who had lost most or all of their families in the war.

For the first time, Hermione took note of a subtle undercurrent of both sadness and hostility in the Great Hall that morning. She passed the list along quickly, as if it had burned her, and was overwhelmed by a sudden desire to be with her family.

.

.

Despite that Hermione saw Draco in all her Monday classes, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms all came and went without a single word passing between them. She knew they needed to speak and settle their differences – especially now that she had come to terms with marrying him – and began looking ahead to patrol that evening. At the very least, she planned to ask him for the reply from the Irish alchemist McGonagall had handed over, so she could compare the response to what the Indian alchemists suggested.

But before Hermione could build up her courage for a confrontation, Padma approached her in their common room to inform her that she would be accompanying Hermione on her rounds that evening, as Madam Pomfrey had sent a note along earlier to inform her that Malfoy was to be absolved from prefect duties, as he was indisposed for the evening.

Hermione was begrudgingly worried about him.

As the two friends made their way around the lower parts of the castle, Padma remarked, "Doesn't he make you uncomfortable when you're alone with him?"

"Who?" Hermione feigned, poking her head into an empty classroom to check it.

"Malfoy, of course."

"Not at all."

Truly, she was no longer angry with Draco for rudely dismissing her on Thursday, though she was still miffed about his actions regarding Pansy Parkinson. By now, she was mainly obsessed with why he was in the Hospital Wing instead of on patrol.

Padma digested her response for a beat before wondering, "What do you two talk about for two hours?"

Hermione sniffed dryly and revealed only, "Malfoy is a very private person. Come on, let's do the dungeons and we can finish up early…"

.

.

On Tuesday morning, Draco was in Defense Against the Dark Arts as usual, though he was stationed several seats behind her, with Zabini. In Arithmancy, he sat only three seats away; Hermione used the opportunity to notice that instead of appearing ill, he actually looked better-rested than he had in some time.

She stopped worrying about his health and began feeling somewhat offended. Had he feigned illness to get out of patrol with her? She quickly buried the thought, deeming it unfair.

Lunch on Tuesday found Hermione and her dorm-mates listening to Sue wax on about Quidditch through mouthfuls of roast beef. "Ravenclaw just has to take the Cup this year." She shook her fork at Hermione, "You lions have had your claws on it for too long. I want talons holding the Cup!"

"Not that Gryffindor is likely to win this year," Lisa remarked placidly as she spooned a steaming helping of chowder into her bowl.

"Nope," Sue confirmed, popping the 'p' with her lips while she grinned in a satisfied way. "They'd have to beat Slytherin by over 500 points in their final game and that's  _ if _ Slytherin loses to us in the next game. Mind you, Gryffindor doesn't stand a chance against Slytherin, what with Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley both playing for the snakes. Then Hufflepuff will play us after we play Slytherin..."

"Hufflepuff is good this year but we are better," Padma assured Sue, used to her dorm-mate's fanaticism for Quidditch. Hermione was reminded of Oliver Wood.

"We are better than the badgers so long as we watch out for the Esposito twins – they're scary good Chasers," Sue went on. She smirked in a very Slytherin-esque way. "Like as not, the final match will be Ravenclaw versus Slytherin."

"Should be a doozy," Lisa commented cheerfully, dunking a hunk of bread into her soup and tucking in.

"Evan Knight is a great Seeker," Padma added, "Ravenclaw is lucky to have him."

"He'll be up against Potter though," Sue countered darkly. She stabbed her roast beef violently with her fork. "Potter is  _ excellent _ . Evan is just really good. Still, he's small and only a third year – he might have a weight advantage…"

Hermione could not help but smile.

"I see you, Hermione," Lisa giggled. "You want Harry to win."

She shrugged, unapologetic. "He's my best friend."

"But he's Slytherin!" Sue protested, looking indignant. "You're  _ Ravenclaw _ ."

"No matter what the Sorting Hat might have decided at the beginning of the year, Harry Potter is undoubtedly Gryffindor," Padma put in matter-of-factly, her gaze darting to the Slytherin table where Harry and Ginny were having a private moment. Eyes flickering back to their own table, she added, "So is Hermione."

Lisa, Padma, and Sue got into a debate about the politics of this statement, while Hermione noticed for the first time that their fifth dorm-mate had been utterly silent for the conversation. Quietly, she asked, "Everything okay?"

Daphne looked up from her plate, which had only a small, sad helping of salad on it. "Hm? Oh – yes. Just thinking about my next class."

"By Circe, is that the time?" Padma gasped, grabbing her bookbag and downing the last of her pumpkin juice. "I've got to get to Ghoul Studies. It's on the ninth floor."

"We've got Muggle Studies," Sue agreed. She and Lisa stood as well. "Probably should get to that, too."

Hermione, who had a free period before Ancient Runes, turned to Daphne and queried, "I was thinking of going to the library – did you want to join me?"

Daphne shook her head. "I think I'll just go back to the tower before Divination. I'm a bit tired."

Hermione acquiesced, but worriedly; she could not shake the feeling of unease which Daphne's demeanor had brought on. She watched her friend go, then turned as if she were going to the library, doubling back once Daphne was out of sight. Sufficiently behind her, Hermione followed her friend up to Ravenclaw Tower.

Her heart sank when she entered the dormitory, only to find her worst suspicions confirmed. Telltale splashing noises of a person being ill into the toilet echoed slightly on the walls of their dormitory bathroom. "Daphne?"

With a final retching sound and a guilty flush of the toilet, the former-Slytherin girl exited the far stall. There was a bit of sick on her uniform blouse and she brushed past Hermione without a word to change it for a new one.

Hermione followed her friend into the main area of the dormitory. "You're purging again?"

Daphne only shrugged.

"I thought you were better?"

"Leave it, Hermione."

"Why?"

Through gritted teeth, Daphne spat out, "Because I asked you to."

"No."

Pulling on a fresh uniform shirt over her camisole, Daphne smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on the front of the shirt, then carefully arranged her blue-and-bronze tie back into place.

Knowing she was being pointedly ignored, Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "Talk to me."

"About?" The other girl's voice was cold when she spoke.

"Why you're purging. I thought you were done with that."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not. Drop it."

"I will not drop it – you're my friend and I care about you! Did something happen with Ron?"

"Not yet, but it will."

"What does that mean?"

Daphne whirled around to face her friend, "You know as well as I do that not all good things can last. Ron  _ hates _ my Slytherin friends."

"Did he say…?"

She interrupted to continue, "I had lunch with Draco on Friday and Ron tried to separate us."

"He didn't seem angry on Sunday," Hermione protested. "We all had lunch with Hagrid and he was practically bragging about you!"

Instead of cheering Daphne, she merely uttered, "He hasn't spoken to me since."

Hermione's heart fell. Ron had always been rash when it came to matters such as this.

"Now he hates me, I'm sure of it."

"Of course he doesn't, Ron just has a temper to match his hair. He'll come around soon enough."

Daphne shook her head. "You don't understand. From a young age, I was raised to expect to make a match with someone I respected, rather than someone I was romantically interested in. I'm not ready to have my heart broken. Maybe I should just stay away from him."

"Ron wouldn't…" she tried to say, but was interrupted again.

"As a general rule, purebloods marry for alliances more than love," Daphne explained. "If love also occurs, then you can count yourself amongst the lucky ones."

Crossing her arms, Hermione insisted, "That doesn't sound like a happy relationship. Respect is important, of course – but love is essential."

"I'm not denying love is great, but it's also trusting someone with your heart… and the possibility of them destroying it."

"But that's  _ the point _ ! When you love someone, you trust them not to hurt you!"

"I've seen what happens when regard can cause you to forget reason and allow you to trust another person with your heart," Daphne said darkly. "You weren't there when Pansy and Draco broke it off."

Hermione sucked in a breath.

Seeing that she had caught her friend's attention, Daphne explained, "Pans and Draco were young, sure… but they were powerful as a couple, too. They really cared about one another, in their own way. Pansy fawned on him, practically fell all over herself just to please him… and Draco spoiled her in return, took her into his confidence." Daphne made a disgusted face, "She constantly gloated that she had been the one to catch him… which is why I'll never understand why she cheated on him."

Whatever Hermione had been expecting, it certainly was not that. "What?"

Nodding, the former-Slytherin continued, "It all but destroyed Draco when he found out. I'm sure he expected to marry her once they graduated – and he would have done it if she hadn't slept with Tristram Bassenthwaite. Draco left her and refused to take her back, then swore off dating entirely for the next two years. Pansy has slept with nearly everyone in Slytherin since, which has only made it worse. He can barely stand to even look at her now."

Hermione's brow furrowed. There was one part of the story that did not add up for her: "But if that's the case, why does he help her?"

"What do you mean?"

The story of finding Pansy intoxicated in the caves by the dungeons left Hermione's lips in a great gust. Daphne listened patiently, her eyebrows contracting as her friend breathlessly explained the story.

When she had done, Daphne explained sadly, "That's just how Draco is. He's always been a protector, though he would murder me if he ever heard me describing him that way. I'm sure he considered what he did to be common decency."

"But given what you've just told me, it's almost like he still cares for her."

"Definitely not," she protested. "He hates Pansy – and he will continue to have contempt for her because he can't ever respect her. When he found out about Tristram, Draco didn't even bother to duel him because he didn't consider Pansy worth it any longer. Despite that, if she hadn't continued to slag around after their blow out, I'm convinced Draco could have been persuaded to take her back… eventually… though it would never have been the same between them. In his eyes, she desecrated not only herself but everything they had. Completely."

"How so?"

Daphne explained, "Most purebloods keep to the traditional ways and are taught to save their virtue for marriage. It certainly is that way in my family, as it is in Pansy's. I'm sure Draco's family is no different. It's partially an honor thing, but mostly an estate thing. Like, if you receive a virtuous wife, you also receive the prestige of an honorable estate... or something. Pansy broke the unspoken agreement – and not just once, but many, many times. She's got a huge track record. He might have forgiven her the once, but now everyone knows about her appetites."

It seemed as if a new angle of perspective had flicked on a light in Hermione's brain: Draco did not still care for Pansy Parkinson, he was simply being the bigger person. That meant that she, Hermione, had been the one in the wrong, jealous of his unknown past.

But now that she knew…

_ Poor Draco, _ she decided sadly. A combination of shame and regret at how she had treated him on Thursday and thought of him since, crept into her heart. She longed now – far more than ever before – to reconcile with him.

Hermione took a few moments to turn everything she had just learned over in her head. Gazing miserably out the grandiose window of their dormitory, Daphne again smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle in the front of her uniform shirt. Shortly, Hermione's consciousness trickled back to the present, and she was struck by the miserable demeanor of her friend.

"Come on," she said, taking Daphne by the hand and dragging her toward the exit.

"Where are we going?" the other girl wanted to know. Her face was still somewhat pale and sweaty from her purge.

"To the kitchens. We're going to get you something to eat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this is one of the longest chapters yet! Thanks for bearing with me while we had a bit of a refresher. Lots going on... I also want to make a quick note that, yes, I am aware that Hermione did not necessarily deal with Daphne's bulimia in the best manner here. If someone you know is suffering from this, it is important to support them and help them seek assistance with it. However, for the purposes of this story... Hermione is nineteen years old, and does not possess finesse in everything she does, so you'll have to bear with her. She makes mistakes, too.
> 
> On a separate note, I also would like to thank everyone who left me a comment. Reading them is so satisfying and they make me giddy - like coming at one of those sliding ladders for bookshelves at a run!
> 
> There was also a mini-tribute to one of my favorite shows, 'Reign', about halfway through the chapter. I know a lot of people hate on that show, but... nyah.
> 
> Last order of business, thank you so, so much to my beta (I_was_BOTWP) for being a fantastic human being and an excellent comrade. We've officially made it past the halfway point (and she hasn't left me yet)!


	41. Apologies & Concessions

**** " _ Muffliato _ ," Theo cast with a lazy wand movement as he deposited his bag in the chair beside Hermione. Without even a greeting, he drawled, "So it seems you and Draco are getting hitched soon, after all."

"Why do I feel as if I unleashed a monster when I taught you that spell?" she retorted, taking out her Charms textbook as members of their Wednesday morning class filtered in.

"Trust me, love, I was a monster well before you came along," he assured her. His eyes flickered over to the far table where Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott had their foreheads pressed together sweetly. "Merlin, can't they get a room?"

It was odd, Hermione reflected, how her Charms class had come to rearrange itself. Neville now opted to sit with his girlfriend instead of Hermione, having been supplanted by Theodore. If she were honest with herself, Hermione was not entirely sure how he had inserted himself into her life so solidly. Rather than despising him for the audacity, she found she enjoyed his company.

"And I reiterate: you're getting hitched to my mate soon, eh?"

"I heard you the first time," she grumbled.

"Don't you know it's rude to ignore someone?" he japed, flicking his wand again so his note-taking implements hovered out of his bag and arranged themselves on his half of their desk.

Hermione noticed his red-and-gold tie had been somewhat sloppily fastened around his neck and that his shirt was untucked. She jeered, "Don't you know you look like you wore your uniform while sleeping last night and just rolled out of bed this morning?"

Instead of incensing him, he chortled at her repartee. "You're one snooty witch, Granger, but I like it."

"You're not so bad yourself, Nott." She thought for a moment, then tacked on, "Generally."

He made a sweeping, ostentatious bow before plopping himself into the chair beside her.

"And yes,” she added haltingly, her heart hesitant with self-doubt, “it does seem imminently possible that Draco and I will marry, out of duty."

Gloatingly, Theo prompted, "Do you happen to remember a certain conversation you and I had some weeks ago? The one where I predicted this would happen?"

"Something of it, I suppose," she dismissed him, hoping it might wipe the smug grin from his lips. Fingers fumbling along the spines of books and color-coded folders in her bookbag, she muttered under her breath, "Where in Agrippa's name is my Charms folder?"

Leaning back saucily in his chair and propping his feet up on the desk, Theo informed her, "You shut it in your Defense text when you were cross-checking something over lunch yesterday."

Her eyes flickered up to his face – now with a more smug expression than ever – and reached for her Defense book, just in case he was right.

He was.

Irritated, she slapped the displaced folder onto her desktop and fumed, "If you're so all-knowing, tell me how I get out of this mess with Draco, then."

He wagged a finger at her while continuing to tip back in his chair at a dangerous angle. "If I tell you, you won't discover the solution at all. You don't want to risk that."

"Sounds like an evasive answer to me," she harrumphed. "Anyway, I'm still not convinced you're always right, especially as you told me I'd be in love with Malfoy by the time we marry and I'm not seeing that happening." Mentally she added,  _ I won't let that happen. _

"I'm just not sure who it is you're trying to convince, princess…"

"You can't force people to have emotions for one another!" she hissed at him.

He grinned cheekily at her, "Sounds like someone is already catching real feelings."

Hermione could feel her face heating with an untimely blush and her eyes inadvertently flicked over to the place Draco was sitting quietly with Zabini. Neither wizard was speaking. Instead, Draco's eyes were closed as he waited for class to begin, his fingertips pressed together under his chin.

A moment later, Professor Flitwick took his customary place on his stool at the front of the classroom. Removing the  _ muffliato _ , Theo ceased tipping his chair and whispered lowly by Hermione's ear, "You'll see."

_ That’s what I’m afraid of... _

.

.

Professor Sprout seemed to be already in the mood for holiday break, because the eighth years were released upward of an hour early from Herbology that morning. Just as Harry, Ron, and Hermione were readying to head back up to the castle, Oliver Rivers approached. Her Alchemy partner explained, "I was hoping we could use this extra time to make final changes to our report."

Though it was a perfectly reasonable academic request, Hermione could not help but be a touch annoyed. With the merest hint of a smirk in the corner of his lips, Harry steered Ron away and said, "Sure thing. Ron and I wanted to go to the Quidditch Pitch for a bit anyway."

"Er," Ron put in.

"See you at lunch, Hermione!" Harry called as he and Ron left her to deal with Rivers.

Draco – who had not met her eyes all day – brushed past them with Theo and Blaise. He did not say a word.

Thus, Hermione was relegated to fighting her way back up to the school with Oliver. The wind was fierce and unforgiving in the passages between the greenhouses, howling off the outer barbicans of the castle's bailey. By the time they made it into the warmth of Hogwarts, Hermione's hair was wholly wild. With chagrin, she pulled it all back into a low bun at the nape of her neck so it was at least contained.

They wended through the passages to the library, discussing the finer points of their research paper. Once there, the duo read through their third draft of their report to make final changes.

Finally, Oliver announced, "Done."

Hermione sighed contentedly. It was always a good feeling when something big was completed at last.

"You must be relieved," he accused, mistaking her sigh for a different emotion.

Startled somewhat by her partner's bluntness, she diplomatically replied, "You've been a great study partner – why should I be relieved?"

"You won't have to work with me any more."

"I hope we're still friends," she replied evenly.

He offered her a small smile, his first since their awkward sort-of split. "I heard Ernie Macmillan asked you out."

Hermione stiffened slightly at the recent memory.

"You turned him down."

She nodded, "Yes."

"I'm glad."

Confused, Hermione reminded him, "I heard you're dating Dextra Thias from seventh year. I'm happy for you."

Oliver laughed in his quiet way and Hermione smiled. He offered, "I'll re-write out the introduction and first eight pages if you want to do the second half."

Taking the offered collection of parchment, the sheafs of which were covered in both their corrections, she complied, "Of course. We can both bring our parts to class on Friday and then breathe a collective sigh of relief."

"Deal," he settled, and they parted as friends.

.

.

Though she and Draco were not scheduled to leave for patrol until eight o'clock, Hermione began searching for him a half-hour early; her frustration at having been foiled in every attempt to catch his attention had worn her patience thin. Her prefect badge was already pinned to the front of her robes and Crookshanks was trailing faithfully behind while pretending he wasn't.

She found him in the Stacks. Coming upon him silently, Hermione observed Draco for a few moments before approaching. He wore his blue-and-bronze uniform tie and his reading glasses, while a fringe of platinum hair feathered into his eyes as his long, elegant fingers lifted to turn the page of the book in his lap. Ensconced in quietude, there was something about him when he was like this that made her chest feel very full.

In the semi-light that permeated the eclectic Ravenclaw library, Hermione thought he looked as if he were made of moonlight.

There was not a single other soul in that Stacks that evening. It was only two days from their holiday break and many students were in exuberant spirits – even in Ravenclaw Tower – preferring to occupy themselves with Exploding Snap or Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, which left enormous blue bubbles floating in the common room that would refuse to pop until Christmas.

Hermione padded softly across the plush midnight-blue carpet, past the precariously stacked books, and approached Draco. She announced her presence with a perfunctory, "Malfoy."

He looked up, seeming surprised to see her. "Granger. Is it time for patrol already?"

She shook her head and took a seat on the low stool beside his. "Not yet."

With a look that belied some confusion, he eyed her carefully as if unsure of her intent in seeking him out. "I apologize for my absence on Monday. I was not feeling well."

"Yes, Padma told me. Are you better now?"

"Exponentially."

"You're sure you weren't avoiding me?"

He said nothing.

"Draco?"

"It was…" he chose his words carefully, "a bonus, perhaps." His old sneer played about the corners of his mouth; Hermione had not seen it in so long it startled her to recognize it. "But it was not the reason for my absence."

Fighting the instinct to call him a spoiled twit, she brushed off his jeer by remembering the cause of it: she had not treated him fairly the last time they had interacted – something he had the entire week to reflect upon. She took a deep breath and told him honestly, "I am so sorry for the way I spoke to you last Thursday. It was unfair of me to behave irrationally like that."

His gray eyes flashed strangely behind the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses before narrowing. "Why are you apologizing to me?"

"Because my actions during the… incident… with Pansy were immature, and…"

Draco interrupted, "No, I mean why are  _ you _ apologizing to  _ me _ ?"

She blinked, confused. "Because I'm sorry?"

"Hermione," he murmured quietly, glancing around once to be sure they were still alone before taking both of her hands in his. His book was forgotten on his lap. "You have no reason to apologize to me."

"But I do," she insisted. She could have cried at his touch after two days of yearning to do just that and being unable to. "I was jealous of Pansy. I thought you still had feelings for her and I made it difficult for you to try helping her. I know now that I was mistaken, that my thoughts were foolish. Daphne told me about your past... please don't be angry with her. It helped me to understand."

At the mention of Daphne's revelation, Draco's expression turned sour. "It was none of her business to mention…" he muttered. "Greengrass had no right…"

"I'm glad she told me.”

Draco’s eyes were full of questions.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "You would never have told me yourself, and things might never have worked out between us. Now I know… and that’s what matters here, not  _ how  _ things got fixed. It only matters how we handle things going forward from here..."

"Hermione," he repeated quietly. One of his thumbs began to caress her hand. "I have never treated you well." He shook his head as she opened her mouth. "Don't argue – it's true. I have never treated you well. I've… apologized for it, it's true – but some things can't be mended with only words."

"Draco…"

"Let me finish, please. Do you remember that horrendous riddle at the beginning of term? 'Hurt without moving, poison without touching, bear the truth and the lies, not to be judged by size'?"

She nodded. "Words."

"Exactly! I have thought about that riddle every single day since we collided on the tower landing that afternoon. It's made me think: if I were judged by the words I've said to you in the seven and a half years I've known you, it would be my damnation."

"You aren't that person anymore, Draco," Hermione insisted. "I know you aren't."

Instead of reassuring him, he looked mainly angry, "You should never have forgiven me."

"Draco…"

"I could apologize to you every day, and you still shouldn't!" he ranted. He was squeezing her hands harder now in his agitation.

His turbulent mood seemed only to be building, so Hermione did the only think she could think to do: she leaned in and kissed him full on the lips.

At first he was simply shocked, but he quickly surrendered himself to her. Having denied themselves the consolation of acting on their affections for an entire week – a week that seemed much longer than seven days – they were hungry for one another. The flame of their ardency ignited immediately, a glowing ember waiting beneath the surface of their mutual frustration.

The first time Hermione attempted to break away – she did have a lot to say to Draco, after all – he foiled her by pulling her back and wrapping his arms around her to keep her from going. The confirmation of his desire ran down the length of her spine and made her shudder.

When they did finally part, both flushed and somewhat out-of-breath, she reorganized her scattered wits and simply looked at him, considering her options despite that she had already made a decision.

She knew from her research - and on another occasion, when Mrs. Weasley had complained about Bill marrying Fleur - that once a wizarding union was made, a powerful magic married the two parties together. If that binding were to be severed through divorce, a second magical marriage would be impossible to procure between the same two people.

The truth was, Hermione Granger was developing feelings for him… feelings that grew deeper the more the veil was lifted away and she discovered things about Draco Malfoy. At the idea of being married to him, her heart rate quickened and her blood pounded in her ears with intrigue. So it was, that at the same time she was coming to terms with the idea that she should marry him to procure their unbinding and to remove the Dark Mark from her flesh… she was also coming to realize that she might not actually mind being married to him for real.

She swallowed her misgivings, lifted her chin, and boldly proposed, "Marry me?"

He looked at her a long minute, as if searching for her motive. "You're sure?"

"Yes," she confirmed solidly.

"May I inquire what brought this on?"

"I've done a lot of research." His arms were still wrapped around her, which was slightly awkward in their position on the low stools of the Stacks. "It really is the best way… and I think it would be foolish to continue pretending we are less than we are."

This seemed a relief to him somehow, though his eyes continued to belie an inner conflict. "Some consolation prize you've got here, Granger. Still, as I am a bastard in all but birth... when it comes to you, I will take what I can get."

She smiled shyly and kissed him again, only breaking away to remind, "We should be aware of the time. We can talk more on patrol if you like."

Nodding, Draco stood. "I've got to run up to my dormitory before we go."

"Would you mind getting me the letter from the Irish alchemist McGonagall wrote?" she asked, also standing. Crookshanks, who had silently followed her into the Stacks, seemed to take this as a cue and sauntered toward them, winding between Hermione's ankles. She absentmindedly scratched the cat's head and explained, "I'd like to take a further look over it."

When Draco returned with the letter, Hermione ran up to her own dormitory to deposit it into a secret corner of her trunk.

Though she had promised they could speak more about their impending union on patrol, the twosome made it through an entire floor of their lookout before the topic was again broached. It was Draco who brought it back to light: "If you're serious about this marriage, Hermione, we should set a date for the Bridemeet."

She had completely forgotten the pureblood tradition. "Is it really necessary?"

"It's prudent rather than necessary. I come with a large and complicated estate."

"Alright… what should I expect from this ceremony?"

"It isn't a ceremony," he corrected gently, pausing to determine the Arithmancy classroom was vacant. "As the intended, you and your head of household would be invited to my family's estate, where you would be formally introduced to myself and my head of household. Then our families would treat on the terms and conditions of a marriage contract... how our estates affect one another and what is promised, that sort of thing."

"Like a pre-nuptial agreement," she deduced, her stomach aflutter with nerves. "Muggles do that, too."

He seemed placated that the concept was not foreign to her. "However, given that I am the current head of my house, as are you…"

"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "What do you mean, I am the head of my household? Wouldn't that be my father or mother?"

"Under normal circumstances, I might say 'yes,' but in this case, given that you are the first witch to be born into your line, it would be more correct to say you are the founder of the House of Granger."

This was such a foreign notion to Hermione that she was taken aback for a moment. "I suppose I never thought of it that way."

Draco agreed, "It  _ is _ a strange thought."

"How long ago was the Malfoy family first founded?"

"I am the 51st head of the House of Malfoy. We have been living in England for some 950 years since the estate was erected on land given to my ancestor by King William the Conquerer." He mused a moment before adding, "My mother's family – the House of Black – is even older. They can successfully trace their ancestry back to the sixth century."

Hermione stewed over her next thought as it mingled with her astonishment. "Does it bother you that there are fifty generations of difference between the founding of our Houses?"

"No." The simple answer was made with such sincerity that Hermione could feel her shoulders sag with relief. With a trademark smirk, he continued, "So, Miss Granger… would Sunday suffice for the Bridemeet?"

"As in  _ this _ Sunday?" she gaped.

He nodded, "As in three days from today, yes."

"Heavens, no!" she burst out. "Let's please at least wait until after Christmas, like you originally promised. I think I need at least that long to still be my parents' daughter instead of my husband's wife. Besides, the Sunday before Christmas is usually the day I go to Diagon Alley to do all my Christmas shopping…"

"As you wish," he conceded.

"And… Draco?"

"Mm?"

"Does this meeting  _ have _ to take place at your estate?"

"You would prefer a different location?"

Using the excuse of checking in an empty storage cupboard to hide her nervous fidgeting, she explained, "I don't exactly have very favorable memories of Malfoy Manor."

"If you think I was planning to invite you into the drawing room…"

She shook her head, "Even if I went nowhere near that place, I would still wonder about the sorts of things that had happened in any room of your home. I'm sorry, but it's true. I would wonder if the death of someone I knew had been planned in it – like Moody, for example. Or, I'm sure, my own…"

Draco observed her silently for a few moments. "I understand."

"Would you like to meet somewhere neutral?" she pushed, relieved.

Slowly, Draco shook his head. "I was hoping… well…"

"Yes?"

His eyes raised to meet hers and she noted in them a hesitation that was very out-of-character for Draco. "My father wants to meet you. Formally."

She blanched at the unexpected news, "Oh."

"We have a place – the solarium – where my mother keeps a kind of greenhouse. It's set up for more informal visits, but it was untouched during the war. It's an entirely separate wing of the manor, very unlike the rest of it…"

Hermione chewed on her lip, her mind already swimming with misgivings, "Draco, I'm not sure what your father could possibly have to say to me that I would want to hear. My two interactions with your mother have been fairly unpleasant already."

"She is far less reserved than my father is," he promised. "I know that's hard for you to believe, given what you know of him… but I  _ am _ his living image. He cares for me."

Thinking of her own parents, Hermione reflected on the ways they had proven how much they loved her through the course of her life. She thought of her father making pancakes in the morning and singing badly to Queen or The Beatles, while her mother giggled over how out-of-tune he was behind her coffee cup and offering Hermione a surreptitious smile of conspiracy...

She thought of her mother giving her sugar-free cookies as a reward for being so well-behaved as she quietly read in the waiting room of their dentist practice on a day the sitter had fallen ill…

She thought of her father double- and triple-checking that her helmet was secure before taking her for a ride on the back of one of his motorcycles...

She thought of her mother, holding her close and stroking her hair as she cried because Ron was being a jerk and seemed to be in love with Lavender Brown instead of her…

...And she thought of Todd Granger trying to teach her to ski, while only being moderately talented at it, himself. They had both fallen spectacularly on the bunny slopes while Natalie zoomed by on her own skis. Father and daughter collapsed in mirth as they were relegated to collecting their gloves and poles from a nearby snow bank.

All these things were evidence that her parents loved her.

Though it was hard to think of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy showing Draco that same level of caring devotion, she supposed that behind closed doors their family must have affection for one another, or Draco would never have gone to such lengths to protect them during Voldemort's rise to power.

_ Wouldn't he? _

"Is it very important to you that I meet with your father?" she asked him plainly.

He seemed stiff when he diplomatically answered, "Your comfort is imperative. I don’t want you getting a panic attack simply because you wanted to humor me."

"It's a possibility that may happen, yes," she freely admitted. "But if you claim your solarium is sufficiently different from the rest of the manor, I may be alright… and… if you can promise your father will be civil, and that my safety is guaranteed, then I will meet with him."

Draco's eyes softened and seemed almost pained, "You don't need to do this."

She repeated, "Is it important to you?"

Slowly, he nodded, "Yes."

"Then, I will go."

"I don't deserve you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed.

"It's not a matter of ridicule at all," he insisted sternly. Taking her hand, he pulled her behind a nearby tapestry – the same one they had trysted behind on Halloween night when hiding from Peeves. He did not smell like cigarettes this time, she noticed. "Hermione…"

His lips crashed onto hers in a way that was somehow both supremely chaste and yet contained an electric undercurrent of sex. Because it was what she had wanted, she responded readily, her tongue entering his mouth needfully. His hands grabbed at her upper arms, bunching her uniform shirt. It was as if he could not get enough; she fought back by pinning him against the stone of the wall in their hidden place.

Their kiss was a strange mix of emotions, wherein she initially responded to him lustfully though it soon morphed into something softer. His hands roved down to rest at the slight curve of her waist and her arms wrapped around his neck as he bent down to her height. Breaking away, their foreheads rested together for a few minutes and they basked in the contentedness of being held by one another.

"I missed you," she whispered.

His lips took hers again at the admission, and a sizzle of electric shock ran up her spine. Draco pulled her body into his and she could feel the slightly stiffened length of his erection pressed against her leg. Responding automatically, she elicited a small groan of wanting and his fingers wandered lower to cup her breast softly…

She broke away. "We can't, not here. We were almost caught last time."

Draco's breathing was somewhat heavier than usual and his eyes were dark and impassioned. "Who?"

"The Bloody Baron."

He cursed spectacularly; even Ron would have been impressed. After a moment, he added, "That fecking ghost has always been too nosy for his own good."

Hermione stifled her snigger.

"If someone had once told me I'd be cock-blocked by a ghost, I'd have called them barmy."

Some of her giggle escaped this time.

His eyes shifted to hers and he uttered, "This is a serious matter, Hermione."

At that, she burst into real laughter. She pulled open the flap of the tapestry to get some fresh air as she gasped with mirth. Eyes watering, Hermione tried to collect her composure.

"I'm glad someone thinks this is funny," Draco pouted, also emerging from the behind the tapestry. He adjusted his trousers with a injured expression. "I swear, between the Baron and Zabini, I get no privacy in this bloody castle."

"Come on, let's finish patrol," she encouraged, a smile still playing about her lips even as she wondered what on earth she was really getting herself into when it came to him.

.

.

"I would like to speak a moment on what we will be doing in this class going forward," Professor McGonagall lectured. The class had just handed in their term reports, now laid in a neat stack of parchment on the professor's orderly desk.

There was a single groan from the back of the room, followed by a couple meek chuckles of agreement.

"Indeed," said McGonagall, surveying the class over the wire rims of her square spectacles. The student in question, Anthony Goldstein, had the grace to look a bit sheepish at his outburst. "Following your holiday break, we will dive directly into your practical projects. This, you will conduct with a partner, which I will assign you now."

There was some nervous twittering throughout the room. As there were only eight students taking Alchemy, the possible pairings were few. Sue craned her neck around to try catching Hermione's eye with a hopeful expression.

The headmistress announced, "Mr. Entwhistle will partner Miss Li… Mr. Cornfoot will partner Mr. Rivers… Miss Granger will partner Mr. Malfoy… and Mr. Nott will partner Mr. Macmillan."

Sue shot Hermione a sympathetic look at her assignment, which Hermione pretended not to notice; she had known for some time that she would be paired with Draco. Her eyes shifted sideways to glance at the table beside hers where the boys sat. Draco's face bore an utterly neutral expression. Theo looked unsurprised; probably he was.

Ernie, who sat at the table in front of the former-Slytherins, looked as if he had just been told supper would be plague-ridden vampire bats.

McGonagall did not lecture long that day, despite the double-block. She released them half an hour early, much to the delight of her students. For most of them, it was their last class before the holidays officially started and they were anxious to begin their recess.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger!" their professor called as the students began to scramble from the classroom, their spirits high in the imminence of break. "A word, if you would stay a moment…"

Hermione exchanged a brief look with Draco. Both waited patiently for the rest of their fellow students to vacate the room.

"Yes, professor?"

"As you will both recall, your particular assignment will be to research your unbinding. I believe you have conducted quite a bit of research on this topic already, Miss Granger?"

She nodded that she had.

The headmistress looked as if she had expected nothing less from her favorite student. "I hope you will both collaborate appropriately. As your circumstances are what they are, there will be no need for you to hand in a physical assignment."

"Oh, but…" Hermione began, disappointed.

McGonagall held up her hand to stop her protest. "I have had quite enough projects from the two of you as it is. Now off you go."

"Old bat," Draco muttered under his breath as they headed toward Ravenclaw Tower to deposit their bookbags.

Hermione pretended not hear him. "Do you think McGonagall knows?"

"Knows what? That we're going to fix this through divorce?" He shook his head, "Not a chance. She would have tried to talk you out of it by now if she suspected. She wouldn't be able to help herself."

"Draco, that's unkind."

"But no less true."

Hermione said nothing. This was probably lucky, because Luna appeared around the corner in that moment. "Hello, Hermione. Hello, Draco Malfoy."

Hermione inwardly groaned – she had no qualms with the most unique girl in her friend group, but she still preferred to be prepared for her company. Their recent adventure to Rowena's study had only re-established this. "Hello, Luna."

Draco looked somewhat taken aback at having been addressed by his full name, because he uncharacteristically did not answer.

The dotty girl shifted her enormous silvery-blue eyes to his; it was remarkable how similar they were to Draco's own slate-blues, Hermione noticed for the first time. In an innocent voice, Luna queried, "Aren't you going to ask me how I'm doing since I was locked in your cellar?"

Clearing his throat, he uttered, "Right, sorry about that. How are you, then?"

_ Merlin bless him, he's actually trying to have a conversation with Luna!  _ Hermione inwardly lauded.

"Much better, thank you," Luna replied, genuinely invested in the conversation, though the latent dottiness that was ever-present in her voice made her seem miles away. "Daddy and I both took the summer to purify our property since our house was destroyed by Death Eaters. We practiced an entire moon cleansing... all the beautiful things came back, including the moonflies. I thought they had gone forever, but somehow they're still there."

Draco observed, "There's hope hiding in more places than people care to admit."

Luna turned and stared at him. Hermione knew this was a habit the perceptive Gryffindor had, but she was not sure Draco was aware. It must have been unnerving to him, but to his credit, he did not allow it to show.

Finally, she said, "That was wise, Draco Malfoy."

He shrugged, "You don't need to say my full name every time you speak to me."

She did not remark on his words, instead nodding to Draco and Hermione collectively and airily querying, "Are you two friends now?"

"Yes," said Hermione firmly.

For the first time since Luna had appeared, a smirk twitched across Draco's lips. He answered in his own way: "We get on well enough."

"That's nice," Luna remarked. To Draco, she informed, "You had a lot of nargles in your cellar – a real infestation! It's no wonder so many terrible things happened at your house."

"Actually, I think that was because the Dark Lord was living there," he replied without even missing a beat.

" _ You _ were tortured there," she observed as if she were commenting on the weather. "I heard you."

He said nothing.

"And now you're Ravenclaw."

Draco only nodded.

"We're not so different."

Eyebrows raised, Draco glanced from Luna to Hermione then back to Luna. "I suppose not."

She nodded, "I'm glad. It was nice talking to you, Draco Malfoy. Bye, Hermione." Without another word, she skipped off, radishes swinging wildly from her ears as she bounced.

Hermione and Draco looked at one another speechlessly.

He observed, "She talks as if her spirit is busy elsewhere and just her body is going through the motions of being human."

"That's accurate," she agreed. "Luna's got her heart in the right place. You wouldn't know it to look at her, but she's a good wand to have in a fight."

He seemed to be mulling over something intently.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Just that, she's the only friend of yours that doesn't seem bothered by the fact that we're… what we are."

"Friends," she repeated the word.

"Are we friends?"

"Do you want to be?"

Checking to be sure they were alone, he admitted, "We're more than that. You are my fiancée."

"Yes," she agreed, because it was true.

They reached the deserted landing by Ravenclaw Tower. He took her hand and kissed it. Though it was an old-fashioned custom, Hermione felt a flutter in her chest at the action. Draco queried, "Will you come to the manor on Boxing Day?"

It only took a moment for her muddle over the thought. She had only requested they wait until after Christmas, after all. "I will."

"Then," he confirmed, "until Boxing Day."

It felt both like a business agreement had been struck, but also like an agreement of the heart had been conceded, too. Hermione leaned over to kiss his cheek, and while the set of his mouth remained hard, she would swear she saw his eyes soften.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and kudo'd! I hope you find a surprise five dollars in your jeans pocket, because you're awesome. Additional thanks to my most excellent beta, I_was_BOTWP; and to MammaWeasley27, for a bit of alpha cred.
> 
> I hope you accept this pile of fluff in exchange for me making you put up with teen angst for the last three chapters... which was really quite rude of me.


	42. The Hogwarts Express

**** Smoke streamed from the stacks of the Hogwarts Express like thick gossamer clouds. When the students boarded that morning, they were wrapped up in their winter cloaks to combat the snow that was freely falling onto the open platform. Once aboard, they shed their outer layers, leaving the train's corridor a mess of slippery, wet footprints as hundreds of feet tramped about to claim compartments with their friends.

Now, five hours into their ride, the snow was forgotten. As the train crept south along the continent, the snow faded into fog and then into an unseasonably warm haze, especially for an English winter. Hermione traded her school robes for her Muggle clothing as soon as she was able, though she continued to wear long sleeves to cover both the 'Mudblood' scar and the Dark Mark she bore like testaments to a bygone era.

Though the train was smattered with excited laughter from many of its compartments, it was nothing compared to the boisterous frivolity Hermione recalled from her first few years aboard. Many students had stayed at the castle for Christmas this year; some no longer had families to go home to.

She glanced up from the book she was quietly reading to observe Ginny's head resting on Harry's shoulder. Her friend's mouth was slightly open, indicating she had fallen asleep. Harry did not seem to mind; he was occupied with losing spectacularly to Ron in a game of wizard's chess.

"Check," Ron warned as he moved his knight.

Harry craned over the chess board and adjusted his glasses with a frown on his face, "Where?"

"Just there."

"Ah."

Ginny began to stir. "Wassamatter?"

Harry kissed the top of his girlfriend's head, "Nothing. You were asleep and I'm about to lose this game."

Bleary-eyed Ginny blinked at the chessboard and suggested with a yawn, "You should move your queen to F7."

"You're not supposed to help him," Ron grumbled.

"I need all the help I can get," Harry countered, moving his queen as instructed. Noticing Hermione watching him, he asked, "Any good plans for Christmas break, 'Mione?"

_ Oh yes, I'm planning to marry your former schoolyard nemesis, _ she thought ironically. Aloud, however, she replied, "Probably going to have a quiet holiday - besides seeing you lot for Christmas dinner, of course. Mum and Dad want to spend some time with me, especially after everything that happened last year… how about you? Are you spending your entire break at the Burrow?"

"Actually, Ginny and I have plans to help spruce up Grimmauld Place. We're hoping to make it habitable for after graduation."

Ron gaped, "Are you moving in together?"

"That's the plan," Ginny answered matter-of-factly. "Oh, don't move your rook there, Harry…  _ agh _ ."

"Checkmate," said Ron smugly.

As the boys reset the board and Ginny prepared to take on her brother in a fresh game, Hermione quietly, asked, "Ron, where's Daphne?"

His forehead crinkled in a mixture of concern and confusion as he replied, "It's the strangest thing, but I think she's avoiding me..."

"Have you said goodbye yet?" When her friend shook his head, she followed up with, "I think you should find her. She doesn't seem it, but she's actually a fragile sort of person. I think she's upset – though not necessarily at you."

"What at, then?"

Hermione shook her head. It was not her place to divulge Daphne's secret. "I couldn't say, but I think you should go to her if you want to keep her."

Alarmed now, Ron's cheeks tinged red and he reprimanded, "Why didn't you say so earlier?" He barged from the compartment and Hermione vaguely wondered what Daphne would think of Ron coming upon her in his hand-me-down T-shirt with the frayed cuffs and the jeans that were slightly too short in the ankle…

Harry and Ginny looked from Hermione to one another, sharing a look.

Ignoring them, Hermione turned back to her book as Ginny saucily propositioned, "Care to lose to me now, Harry?"

.

.

As trunks were being levitated from the train into a neat stack on the platform, Hermione checked for the sixth time to be sure the latches on Crookshanks' carrier were secured. She waited patiently for a group of high-spirited first-years and their emotional parents to move aside and allow her access to the pile.

Once she was finally able to locate her trunk, she secured it onto her trolley and situated Crookshanks beside it. Ron had still not resurfaced since running off to meet up with Daphne, though Hermione had given both Harry and Ginny a farewell hug. Mrs. Weasley - who had come to greet her children and Harry, despite them all being old enough to Apparate - offered a fond embrace as well, while Hermione reiterated promises to join their family for Christmas dinner.

She was just preparing to exit back through the barrier into King's Cross station when Theo snuck up from behind to surprise her. "You didn't really think you could leave without a goodbye, did you, princess?"

"Theodore," she smiled, hugging him around the middle, "I hope you have a jolly holiday break."

"Oh, I'll be seeing you sooner than you think," he answered cryptically. "But since I  _ won't _ see you before your wedding… congratulations. My best mate may be an arse but at least he's nice to look at."

She simultaneously blushed and laughed. "I suppose he is. Thanks. I'll be seeing you."

He nodded, smirked his best Cheshire Cat grin, then Disapparated with a crack.

Hermione readied to leave a second time, but out of the corner of her eye… there was Draco, speaking to his mother. Narcissa was tight-lipped and seemed to regret appearing in public to meet him, as both Malfoys were given a wide berth by the crowd on the platform. As if he could feel her looking at him, Draco caught Hermione's eye and held her gaze for a moment. With only a curt nod, he turned back to his mother and the two made their way toward one of the public-use fireplaces along the platform wall and prepared to Floo.

_ That man will be my husband,  _ she thought with trepidation, not for the first time.  _ I am going to bind my magical core to his… at least for a little while... _

Taking a deep breath, Hermione checked Crookshanks' carrier for a seventh time and ran at the barrier into Muggle London. She could have Apparated home, but Mrs. Granger always loved picking her up.

The train station was crowded and busy, as was usual for a Saturday afternoon, but it did not take long for her to find her mother. Waving vigorously, Natalie called out over the sea of people, "Hermione!"

"Mum!"

She ran into her mother's arms like it was first year all over again.

.

.

The Grangers' new BMW pulled up in front of the brick front of their home at last, and Hermione peered out at her childhood home, her heart very full as she looked on the place she once thought she might never see again.

Despite being December the 19th, it was a marvel how unseasonably warm it was - especially when contrasted against the biting Scottish chill she had come from, up at Hogwarts. In fact, though the wisteria in front of it had already been pruned for the winter, the kitchen window on the front of the house was wide open to allow in some fresh air.

“Oh, and I’m a cowboy, on a steeeeel horse I riiiiiide…!” *

Natalie giggled quietly into the back of her hand as she stepped from the car, and uttered, "Oh dear. Your father's trying to sing again."

"I’m waaaaantteeddd… dead or aliiiiiive!" *

Both women shared a conspiratorial look as the dreadfully out-of-tune singing permeated the yard and driveway. Hermione shut the passenger side door, hiding a smile of her own, and popped the trunk to retrieve her school things while Natalie rescued a yowling Crookshanks from the back seat of the car.

Still, Mr. Granger could be heard yelling rather than singing: "…I’m a cowboy, I got the night on myyyy side! I’m wantedddd - waaanted - dead or alliiiiiive!” *

Hermione and Natalie discovered Todd in the kitchen, his hips now bouncing to an old Jethro Tull hit as he strained some cooked pasta through a colander over the sink.

"We're home!" Natalie announced.

None too soon, Hermione was being enveloped into a bone-crushing hug by her father. He held her perhaps a little longer than usual, though she certainly was not complaining.

"What's cookin', Dad?"

Cooking was a specialty of Todd's. "Pasta with artichoke hearts and sun-dried tomatoes. Hope you're hungry! I accidentally made too much pasta."

"Starving," she confirmed with a grin.

He mussed her hair affectionately, something he had done since she was a young girl. "There's nothing better in life than being surrounded by two beautiful women. I am a lucky man."

"Enough with the flattery," Natalie insisted, though she looked mollified just the same. "Hermione, dear, will you set the table?"

"Sure thing." With a flick of her wand, the cupboards opened and three plates set themselves neatly on the dining room table, following shortly by glasses and utensils. Beaming at her exasperated mother, she announced, "Done."

Todd roared with laughter. "Let's eat!"

Dinner began well enough. Todd's cooking was delicious, as usual. Natalie inquired after Hermione's classes and told an amusing story about a difficult client who had tried to holistically heal her aching tooth before finally giving in to what turned out to be a necessary root canal. The Grangers had already finished their meal and Natalie was digging some frozen yogurt out of the freezer when Todd finally asked, "Whatever happened with that Malfoy boy?"

Hermione immediately stiffened. She had known the question was coming, but she was not looking forward to articulating the plan to her parents.

"Well," she faltered.  _ Just get it over with! _ "I conducted more than a bit of research… and it turns out, the best method out of our situation actually  _ is _ divorce."

She expected Todd to blow up as he had done the last time he was presented with the notion of his daughter marrying out of duty. What actually happened was far worse. Both Grangers simply sat on their suede loveseat, each nursing a bowl of frozen yogurt, and stared blankly at her.

"Erm," said Hermione uncomfortably.

"So... your plan is what, exactly?" Natalie queried faintly.

Having lost her appetite, Hermione only stared at the half-full dessert bowl in her lap. "Draco and I are to meet on Boxing Day to discuss the terms of an alliance. He comes with vast holdings… so I think his family wants to be sure… all is secure." Her voice had diminished as she spoke; she could feel Todd's anger bubbling beneath the surface of his outwardly calm expression, while Natalie's worry and subtle disappointment was palpable.

"Hermione," Mrs. Granger began slowly, choosing her words with care, "you know your father and I love you… and we support you in the things you do, even if we don't always fully understand them… but  _ this… _ "

Todd burst out, "Are you really going to hand yourself over to those evil people?"

"Dad! Draco is  _ not _ evil…"

"You told us about those Malfoys! They seem to embody  _ everything about the word _ ."

Shaking her head vigorously, Hermione insisted, "Draco is many things, but evil is not one of them. As for Lucius and Narcissa, I couldn't say."

"Hermione, darling," Natalie persuaded urgently, "you have already had to grow up so fast –  _ so _ fast – please don't rush into this decision."

"But I've thought it through… nearly every response we’ve got, from  _ multiple _ experts in the field, have said that divorce is our best bet! I don’t particularly like it either, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. I can handle this."

"We already know you could handle it if you had to,” protested Mrs. Granger. “You're a strong young woman and any mother would be proud to call you their daughter. Please don't stop being my daughter so soon."

Hermione could feel the threat of tears in her eyes, but she pushed them stubbornly away. In little more than a whisper, she murmured, "I will never stop being your daughter."

"We already lost you once," Todd reminded.

The set of her mouth became hard with the memory. “I don’t have a lot of options. I was hoping for your support on this…”

“Really?” her father demanded, “because by all appearances, I can’t see that you’ve thought out the next year of your life, at all.”

Hardening somewhat as she recognized her father’s characteristic hot-headedness, she firmly repeated, "I  _ have _ already thought it through – and Draco agrees with it. If we have got to divorce to undo the binding, we may as well get it over with. Can you imagine me explaining to my future employer that I'm married, but only for another six months?" They were Draco's words originally and Hermione was surprised to find herself parroting them back to her parents so seamlessly. "So, if we do this sooner rather than later, we can wait the year, get our divorce, and act as if the whole thing never happened. I can travel for a few months after I graduate, see the world, then start over fresh when he and I part ways…"

_ When he and I part ways... _

A strange hollowness settled into the pit of her stomach.

“I know you  _ think _ you've thought all this through, love, but there is so much more to being a wife than you can possibly imagine," Natalie tried. “You’re both so young… why the rush?”

“Because I don’t want to be dealing with this when I’m thirty!” she exclaimed. "I want to handle it  _ now _ and get it over with! Besides, I wouldn't really  _ be _ his wife, Mum; it would only be a marriage in the legal sense. I've researched this - extensively. Wizarding marriages are genuinely vague: a witness performs the rite, says the words, and casts the enchantment. There are no stipulations as to how you spend your time while you're married… I wouldn't even have to  _ see _ Draco if I didn't wish to…"

"Oh, darling," Natalie sighed, and Hermione felt as if she may as well not have tried explaining herself at all.

"I don't like it," Todd said point-blank.

Standing, Hermione set her half-eaten frozen yogurt down on the coffee table and announced, "I'm tired, it's been a long day. I think I'll go upstairs for a bit and unpack my trunk."

Neither of her parents said a word. They merely stared at her once again.

Taking this as her cue to leave, she turned on her heel and fled to the safety of her childhood bedroom.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, Hermione thought she could hear her mother softly crying while her father comforted her, “Nat, we’ll find a way… talk her out of it…”

“When has that  _ ever _ worked, Todd? A divorce is one thing… but a  _ forced marriage _ …?”

Hermione had to turn away. She went to her room and closed the door behind her, feeling depressed, and even a bit ashamed.

_ They don't understand. _ It pained her to recognize it, though she had not expected otherwise. 

Crookshanks was already curled into a cozy sphere on her old purple-and-white patchwork comforter, though he looked up when his mistress sank onto the bed beside him and began to absentmindedly stroke his ginger fur.

Her trunk sat heavily at the foot of her bed, all of her school things inside it. Hermione knew she should unpack – she would be home for another two weeks – but her joints were aching from travelling all day and her knees were swollen with arthritis. Without her parents' company as a distraction, her inflamed tendons seemed particularly determined to make their complaints known.

Shedding her socks, she crawled under her covers with all of her clothes still on. Crookshanks made himself comfortable against her leg and fell into an easy slumber, though his mistress stayed awake for some time longer.

She wondered what Draco was doing at that moment…

...Was he perhaps lying on his own childhood bed, sore with the same pains as she?

For a swift moment, she thought of writing him. But she had no owl… and, she reasoned, she had already seen him just that morning.

_ Silly. You're acting silly, _ she chided herself. Crookshanks stretched luxuriously as she reached down to pet him further.  _ Get a grip on yourself. You'll be seeing him in a week's time, anyway… _

She could wait a week… it would be no problem at all…

She dreamt that night of her old bed in Gryffindor Tower, but this time, she shared it with a smirking, silver-eyed someone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a Bon Jovi song, "Wanted Dead Or Alive", which Todd Granger "sings", denoted by an * in a few places. Credit blah blah blah and all that. I love Bon Jovi.
> 
> So, two chapters in as many days, huh? Honestly, this one has been written for awhile... and while it's little, it's also important, so I figured I'd post it. I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> As always, I appreciate everyone who took the time to leave a remark. Your comments and encouragement are so important to writing this fic... like a cozy scarf on a blustery day. All the love.


	43. Diagon Alley

**** Blinking the sleep from her eyes, it was a moment before Hermione registered the neutral beige walls of her childhood bedroom instead of the usual stone of her Hogwarts dormitory. Three over-full bookshelves crowded the room, leaving little enough space for other artifacts, like the school trunk at the foot of her bed and a large stuffed walrus from her youth.

On her bedside table sat a small ceramic lamp in a sickeningly pink color she had clearly not chosen for herself. Beside it was a framed photo of the Golden Trio from fourth year. Like other wizarding photographs, the picture was moving: Harry, Ron, and Hermione were wearing their Gryffindor scarves and laughing over a shared joke long-since passed, while snow fell lightly behind them.

Roused by the smell of coffee being brewed downstairs, Hermione sat up and stretched creakily. She was soggy, having fallen asleep in her damp clothes from the previous day. Crookshanks was a long branch of heat at the foot of the bed and stared reproachfully at his mistress for disturbing him.

She took her time dressing for breakfast, not yet prepared to see her parents after the uncomfortable turn last night's conversation had taken. She had known they would not understand. How could they? They were not a part of the same world she had immersed herself in so fully...

But then, she was sure Harry and Ron would not support her decision either… and they did belong to her world.

The thing was, while Hermione was happy to be home with her parents (something that had not been guaranteed, as recently as a year ago), she also realized that – with the exception of the Bridemeet – there were two weeks of not seeing Draco ahead of her.

That was two weeks of not seeing him in classes, of not doing bi-weekly patrol rounds, of not watching him study in the common room, and of not running into him outside the prefects' baths.

While a fortnight was not really a very long time in the grand scheme of things, fourteen days was fourteen days...

...It was almost half a month!

The truth was, she missed him already. She missed that ungodly smirk and his dry sense of humor… the snarky, infuriating way he challenged everything she said… she missed those long, dark-golden eyelashes framing his perfectly almond-shaped, gray-blue eyes… she missed watching his long fingers elegantly holding a quill and performing superb calligraphy… she missed the taste of him as he softly kissed her... the flavor of growing passion as the kiss would inevitably deepen… she missed how those magnificent hands would tangle into her hair and pull her closer… she missed his inner sense of chivalry, the part of him he kept as buried as possible... she missed…

_Stop_ _it_ , Hermione chided herself, abruptly breaking off that dangerous train of thought. _It_ _will never do to dwell on him. You’re already far too attached for comfort._

She descended for breakfast in a state of both depression and anxiety.

.

.

"I still don't like the thought of you getting hitched to that boy, Hermione."

It was the fifth time Mr. Granger said the words since breakfast was put on the table, the remnants of which were just now being cleared away. Mrs. Granger was pouring herself a second cup of coffee. A throb had begun in Hermione's temple.

"Well, that's likely what's happening, Dad."

"I just don't see why it's necessary. So you can't get a magical marriage someday…so what? Can't you just have a normal one when the time comes? Your mother and I did, and we are doing just fine."

"This is about much more than my future spouse, whoever he may be…" Rolling up her left sleeve, she bared the Dark Mark to her parents. It was remarkable to note the difference in reactions from those of the wizarding world – who knew what it represented – and Muggles, who viewed it only as a tattoo. "I have this now. It's Draco's and I hate to look at it…"

"It  _ is _ rather ugly," Natalie remarked, wrinkling her nose as if someone had tracked something unpleasant into her home on the bottom of their trainers.

Unwilling to explain what it represented and exacerbate the issue, Hermione rolled her sleeve back down and plaintively added, "I also have all his arthritis."

"The boy is a teenager," Todd scoffed, "how can he have arthritis?"

"Draco was tortured, Dad! He  _ allowed _ himself to be tortured so his mother wouldn't be." With feeling, she added, "And the dark wizards he blindly placed his trust in tortured him so much with magic that he has aches and pains every single day… and now I have them, too..."

"Oh!" Natalie gasped. "Do you need some anti-inflammatories? I have Ibuprofen."

"You're not grasping the point, either of you!"

"It's hard to feel sorry for the boy when we are busy worrying about  _ you _ …" her father pointed out.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was not that she thought her intentions were wrong, but she hated upsetting her parents. "I have already resolved to meet Draco at his home on December the 26th, as planned. Then we will decide when would be the best time for..."

She faltered.

_For_ _us_ _to_ _get_ _married_. _To_ _bind_ _ourselves_ _together_ _still_ _more_ _in_ _the_ _hope_ _that_ _one_ _day_ _when_ _we_ _unravel_ _all_ _these_ _bindings_ _upon_ _bindings_ , _it_ _frees_ _us_ _both_ _utterly_ … _and_ _then_ _what?_

Softly, she finished, "…To do this."

.

.

The moment Hermione Apparated into Diagon Alley and her feet settled onto the cobblestones of the familiar street, the stress of arguing with her parents seemed to melt off her shoulders.

Most of the shops lining the streets had just opened for the morning. While many tenants had abandoned their stores during the war, nearly three-quarters had already re-opened. She spotted the large glass windows of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions displaying new sets of wizard wear - everything from Hogwarts uniforms to the latest styles of dress robes were proudly displayed on mannequins that winked at passing shoppers. Potage's Cauldron Shop next door bore a banner across the front entrance proclaiming that it had just reopened that week, ("New Self-Stirring Styles In Stock!").

Hermione consulted her Christmas list before setting to work, reveling in the normalcy of purchasing presents for her friends and family. She spotted Luna waving to her from the apothecary – which had never shut, even when the war had been at its worst – and she waved back with a smile. Padma and Parvati Patil could be seen entering the recently reopened Madam Primpernelle's, a little store that sold beauty potions and products for witches. Hermione had never been inside the shop, it being rather too pink for her taste.

Eeylops Owl Emporium remained boarded up, though owl droppings and pellets were still scattered near its premises under the empty cages that lined the street. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was as brightly colored as ever, but the many window displays were empty, and a small sign on the front door explained the store was closed until further notice. She hurried along, hoping she would be able to see George on Christmas.

Soon immersed in her shopping, Hermione found she appreciated the break from worrying about anything more stressful than which color scarf from Twilfitt & Tattings would go best with Ginny's hair, or haggling over the price of a pair of dust-eliminating bookends for her father's office from Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment.

It seemed she had just begun to get over her anxiety when the sign for 'Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' was before her, hanging from its hinges and split in two pieces. She then found herself wondering how Mr. Ollivander was doing following his rescue from the cellar of Malfoy Manor, where he had apparently languished for several months, intermittently being tortured...

Thinking of that horrific night at Malfoy Manor got Hermione worked up about seeing Draco again. She bought herself a new quill from Scrivenshaft's to try distracting herself. It very nearly worked, or so she told herself.

She had just finished purchasing the traditional Tooth-Flossing Stringmints for her parents (as dentists, these novelty candies were one of their favorite perks that came from the wizarding world), and was re-checking her shopping list. She only had Harry and Ron left - luckily Quality Quidditch Supplies was still an active business.

Putting her list away in her bag, where all her purchases had been shrunk down for convenience, she had almost got a certain Malfoy completely out of her mind, when she ran straight into a very solid someone.

"Oh, I'm terribly sor…" she gaped, "Draco?"

It was indeed Draco, though he was wearing a winter hat that covered most of his distinctive platinum hair and also his glasses, which Hermione had never actually seen him wear in public. The end result was that he did not really look much like the Malfoy she knew at all, until she  _ really _ looked. Passers-by were too wrapped up in their Christmas shopping to spare him a second glance, despite his family's notoriety.

"What are you doing here?"

"You mentioned you would be here on this day. I wanted to see you."

"Me?" she murmured, her cheeks tingeing pink at the implication that he had missed her. She felt relieved that she had not been the only one who thought two weeks seemed like a very long time. "Why?"

He only shrugged, his eyes still darting around at the cobbled streets bustling with Christmas shoppers.

She offered, "Well if you'd like to join me, I was going to pick out some new Quidditch gloves for the boys. Ron's are a bit worn, and Harry lost his last year when we were on the run - he’s been using some old ones he borrowed from Charlie. I know nothing about what sorts of things are available, so maybe you could help me."

Standing up a bit straighter when it became clear she was not going to simply brush him off, Draco recommended, "You'll want Quality Quidditch Supplies – it's just this way."

The twosome spent some time in the crowded store looking at sporting gloves; Hermione had not realized there would be so many options. It was lucky, too, that the shopkeeper was so busy, as Draco relaxed even further when he was not recognized. He spent some minutes explaining to Hermione what each pair offered a Quidditch player and after some time, she realized she could not remember the last time she heard him speak so much at once.

"Which ones would you want for yourself?" she questioned. "Nothing wildly expensive, mind you."

He thought a moment, then lifted a fingerless pair from the wall where they hung, "These."

She checked the price. "Perfect, I'll get two pair then."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"These are light, flexible, and fingerless" he explained, "more for keeping the wind chill off one's hands than anything else – perfect for a Seeker. You can give these to Potter."

"But…"

" _ These _ , on the other hand…" he plucked a different set from another rack, "are thick and reinforced. Dexterity is not as important. These ones you can give to Weasley: they are meant to soften the blow of catching the Quaffle again and again, which is what a Keeper needs in a good pair of gloves."

Hermione took her purchases to the harried shopkeeper and paid him, tucking the last of her gifts into her handbag for wrapping later.

"I never knew there was so much to Quidditch gloves," she admitted as the two of them left Quality Quidditch Supplies and turned back out into the main stretch of Diagon Alley. "It turns out it was a good thing you came along today. I would have purchased the wrong sort of thing in my ignorance."

He waved the claim away, but Hermione noticed the smallest of smirks gracing his lips.

"Do you want to get lunch?"

The smirk slid away and Draco's eyes flickered around them again at the crowds that were still not paying them any mind. "Are you asking me on a date?"

_ Am I? _

Interestingly, he seemed nervous that she might be.

_After_ _all_ , _we_ _are_ _getting_ _married_ _soon_ … Taking a chance, she responded, "Only if you want it to be one. Otherwise, it's just lunch."

He worried, "I don't think many of the restaurant proprietors here would wish to serve anyone from my family right now."

"We could go into London," Hermione offered brightly. "I know a place that's just down the street and has delicious food, very casual. No one will know us there."

"Muggle London?"

She only nodded, wondering which part of the recommendation was causing him the most consternation.

Slowly, he voiced, "I've never been."

"It's not so different," she assured him. "People are people – there just isn't any magic, that's all."

She waited, allowing him some time to think it over. Finally, in a decidedly unsure voice he muttered, "Why not?"

"Excellent. But… one other thing, first." Herself now glancing around to be sure there were no eavesdroppers, she told him, "I had planned to go into Knockturn Alley while I was here today."

Draco visibly blanched, pale as he already was. Pulling her into a nearby alley, which was full of overflowing trash bins instead of shoppers, he demanded, "Why?"

"I want to see if they have Adder's Fork… just in case."

"A woman like you does not belong in a place like that."

"I have been there before, Draco."

Recognizing her look of stalwart determination, he swallowed heavily and Hermione noticed his Adam's apple bob weightily up and down his throat. "Fine… just..." he pulled her further into the alley and away from the crowded street beyond, "we need to disguise ourselves. Neither of us should be spotted there, each for our own reasons."

"Okay, deal – but can we hurry? These rubbish bins stink."

Perhaps Draco agreed about the rubbish bins, because he turned his own hair an unexceptional sandy brown with an expedient flick of his wand. The change, when paired with his glasses, made him look as if he were a different person. While Hermione normally appreciated the way Draco looked in his spectacles, she was unsure if she liked him without his distinctive blond hair. He was somehow much less him.

"No putting spells on mine," she stipulated implacably. "I haven't forgotten what happened when Lavender Brown tried to charm my hair back in third year. I can transfigure my coat and hat to hide me better."

"Your coat into a cloak," he recommended with a grimace at her stubbornness, "and put the hood up."

Disguised, Hermione and Draco slipped back into the hustle and bustle of the main stretch of shops. Within minutes, they were at the gnarled, wrought iron gate that marked the entrance to Knockturn Alley. The only identifying sign for the place was an aged piece of wood with peeling letters tacked to the outer wall of the nearest shop.

"Are you sure…?" he began, nervously glancing around again.

"Let's go," Hermione decided for them, snatching up his hand and pulling him along by it.

Unlike the organized chaos of the brightly lit Diagon Alley behind them, Knockturn was comparatively dark and dingy. Where many of Diagon's shops were beginning to re-open, most of Knockturn had been hastily boarded up or dismantled. Broken glass littered the cobblestone road and outside one vacant shop-front, there was a large scorch mark that left an untraversable crater in half of the walkway.

Instead of the orderly criss-crossing paths that characterized Diagon Alley, these pathways twisted in a wayward fashion, like a gypsy's ribbon. They met no one but for a pair of witches who, like Hermione, had their heads covered with deep hoods on their cloaks to avoid being recognized.

The first open shop they came upon was more of a small hovel that had melted into the wall between two closed store-fronts. From the window, a snaggle-toothed woman covered with a ratty shawl smiled at them with mossy teeth as they hurried past. The hand-painted sign above her door indicated she was a fortune-teller. Hermione wondered what Theodore would make of her…

Two doors down, the display window featured a chipped china set patterned with black roses. A small sign beside it claimed,  _ Cursed _ ! Nearby, the proprietors had put an invisibility cloak made of demiguise hair onto a dummy that was missing most of its eyelashes.

Hermione paused a moment near the door, "They wouldn't have…?"

"We won't find what you are looking for there," Draco assured her, not even bothering to stop. "They sell household goods: furniture, clothing, that sort of thing."

They continued on. Around another bend was a small pub called Salazar's Stones.

"That place serves vampires, among other beasts," Draco informed his companion with a small shudder. "I'm shocked they are still in business – I heard the barkeep was passing information to Greyback during the war. Let's move quickly."

Hermione did not need telling twice. At last, they reached what appeared to be the end of Knockturn Alley, the conclusion of which was spread out into a cul-de-sac. Of the seven spaces for lease, only three remained open.

The first was a storefront with a rose-gold sign all done in filigree that seemed almost too new for the rest of its surroundings; it mainly featured torture devices and other equally horrible-looking machines and relics, all polished to an almost manic shininess. Upon a second glance, Hermione noticed it was a museum of sorts rather than a shop.

The second was a shabby bookshop called Obscurus Books. A greenish haze filled the room beyond and a single book in the window display was a compendium of information about pentagrams.

"Don't even think about it," Draco growled, pulling Hermione away from the window.

"But what if the book we need…?"

"There is only one place to get what you are looking for and I don't want to hang around here any longer than necessary." With that, he led her into the last shop at the end of the road, which was Borgin & Burke.

The tinkling of a small bell announced their arrival. Still, it was a few moments before the oily Mr. Borgin surfaced from the back room. Hermione noticed the man had quite a bit less hair than the last time she had seen him, and his cheeks were more hollowed out.

"Can I help you?"

Draco cleared his throat and in a voice that was very different from his own - one that was so startlingly like that of his father it made Hermione shudder - he responded, "Good afternoon, Borgin."

The man's eyes grew wide and he stuttered, "M-Mister Malfoy? Forgive me, I did not recognize you – but of course you will have needed to disguise yourself to visit…"

"I only have a short time, Borgin. I am looking for something in particular."

"O-of course. What…?"

Hermione was intrigued to note that Mr. Borgin seemed genuinely frightened to see Draco in his shop. She recalled the week before the start of their sixth year when she, Harry and Ron had followed him to this very establishment. What had transpired between the two since? Had she been wrong to ask Draco to come back here?

With a jolt, she realized she had been standing beside a four-foot tall jar of what looked like assorted human eyeballs and with a noise of surprised disgust, she moved away.

"…Something for the lady, perhaps?" Borgin was suggesting.

"No, Borgin. I am looking for some Adder's Fork."

"Very difficult to get, Adder's Fork," the man mused nervously. "I had a small specimen once, but that was nigh on ten years ago."

Hermione's heart sank and for the first time, she spoke up, "Would you be able to procure any? If the right people were asked?"

Though her face was still obscured by her low hood, she could feel Borgin's gaze boring into her skull, his cold blue eyes trying to calculate when he had heard her voice before, or if he had at all. She lifted her hand to pull her hood further down; Draco had been correct, she did not wish to be identified here.

A flash from her wrist caught the shopkeeper's attention, "Madam, it is distinctly possible no Adder's Fork has been  _ harvested _ since the single piece I sold a decade hence. But... if I am not mistaken, you bear a lavish prize on your wrist: an entire set of gems which will indicate the difference between truths and untruths. May I?"

She glanced down with surprise at the bracelet of small blue stones which Harry and Ron had gifted her on her birthday. "I'd prefer not, thank you."

Mr. Borgin stepped back, looking disappointed, "Of course, of course… though I would gladly hunt down an Adder's Fork in exchange for such a prize."

Confused, Hermione murmured only a polite, "No, thank you."

"It seems you cannot help us, Borgin," Draco concluded. Hermione thought he sounded a little relieved. "We bid you good day."

The twosome hurried from the shop as quickly as they could, thankful to leave the greasy shopkeeper behind. When they reached the gate that led back into Diagon Alley, Hermione felt she had never been so thankful to see the stretch of brightly lit street before. They used the same deserted alley as before for Draco to lift the enchantment on his hair, restoring it to its natural blond, while Hermione returned her clothing to its usual state.

"Why was Borgin so interested in my bracelet?" she wanted to know as she zipped up her coat.

"I'd like to know where you got that thing, too. I've seen you wear it, but I didn't realize what it was…"

"Harry and Ron gave it to me for my birthday. Is it really so valuable?"

"That explains why you didn't want to trade it – and good for you, too. That scum doesn't deserve to have it and he would definitely have got the better end of the bargain."

Draco reached out to pick up her hand and examine the bracelet clasped to her wrist. A tingle at the contact ran through Hermione and for the briefest of moments, she recalled their forbidden rendezvous behind closed doors and a familiar tightening feeling coiled near her sacrum. She longed to kiss him.

He concluded, "These stones are incredibly rare, especially ones that have been cut for jewelry. All the known gems in the world are spoken for. Even if all my family's pre-war resources were intact, I would still have a difficult time getting ahold of one. I would love to know how Potter and Weasley came by it."

"Suddenly, so do I…" she murmured.

As if only then just coming to the realization that he was holding her hand in an alleyway full of stinking rubbish, Draco dropped her arm and muttered, "Let's get out of here."

"I believe you agreed to lunch," she reminded him swiftly.

"A wizard ought not to go back on his word…"

.

.

The place Hermione knew in nearby Muggle London was just a couple blocks from the Leaky Cauldron and was more of a deli than a restaurant. Before they exited the pub into the crowded streets beyond, she transfigured Draco's cloak into a black pea coat to make him less conspicuous.

Though he had approached the Leaky Cauldron with more than a little trepidation, the pub was so packed with holiday crowds that barely a soul paid any mind to the young couple heading into the Muggle world… or if they did, no one stopped them. Hermione was grateful that between Draco's hat and glasses, he appeared mostly anonymous. She was well aware that the _Daily_ _Prophet_ would have a field day if they spotted the two of them together.

He had not said much since they nabbed a corner booth of the little deli, but Hermione noticed this seemed to be mainly because he was so busy looking at everything. The place was packed with Muggles taking breaks from their holiday shopping.

She tapped his arm where it rested on the table, "Draco?"

He had been watching an employee skillfully use the meat cutter behind the counter with fascination, but his attention snapped to her now. "Hmm?"

"The waitress will be coming shortly to ask us what we want. We should probably look at the menu."

But after a few moments of doing just that, Draco murmured, "Do Muggles really eat a tongue sandwich?"

"It's a cow tongue," she clarified, "and yes, some do." She turned back to her menu.

But Draco continued to look around curiously. He leaned across the table toward her to whisper, "Doesn't that man know it's rude to eat with a hat on?"

Hermione glanced at the offending man in question. "That's a yarmulke, he wears it as a part of his religion."

"Oh." He sat back, eyes flickering to their table, back to the man, then snapping up to her face. "I know about religion."

Closing her own menu, she queried, "Do wizards not have a religion?"

Draco shook his head, "Most of us believe in things we can see and prove."

"My parents are both Catholic, but we don't go to church often as a family. Mum goes most Sundays, but Dad says it isn't really for him and only goes on important holidays or when Mum makes him."

"What is considered an important holiday?" he wanted to know.

"We will probably go on Christmas Eve. Dad usually also goes for Easter."

Draco had a lot of questions about this practice, which Hermione answered as best she could before the harried waitress finally approached.

"Sorry about the wait," the woman apologized, "what's your pleasure?"

"I'll take the lox and cream cheese fresser, please," Hermione ordered.

"Capers and onions?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," said the waitress and took the menu. She now turned to Draco, "For you?"

He blinked absently at the menu a few times and muttered, "What she's having."

"Very good." The waitress took his menu as well. "Applesauce or sour cream with your potato pancakes?"

She was met with a blank stare from Draco.

"Oh, he's never had them," Hermione explained. "Could you bring us a bit of both?"

Once the woman moved off to put their order in, the young couple was silent a moment. Finally, Draco opined, "I guess I just don't understand the point in placing your faith in something you can't prove exists."

"Religion isn't so hopeless as that," Hermione insisted. "It's supposed to make you feel as though there's a reason for things to happen, even if you don't understand them now. Or that you're cared for, even when the rest of the world seems to have turned it's back on you. It's placing your faith in hope."

"I think…" he began, then stopped when he caught her eye.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's stupid."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Please?"

He released a deep exhale through his nose and in the lowest voice he could manage without his words disappearing entirely, he confessed, "I think the closest thing I've ever felt to religion is when I'm with you."

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it was not that. Hermione felt color heating her face while a scintilla of a feeling came in the briefest of sparks and passed through her chest. It was swiftly followed by a whole slew of emotions which she wrestled with and subdued with some effort.

When she was not directly forthcoming with a reply, Draco's cheeks took on a pink color and he admitted, "I knew it was a stupid thing to say…"

She insisted, "It wasn't."

Draco was unconvinced, suddenly looking a little nauseous. "I knew it was a bad idea for me to come here today, too. Like I fool, I ignored my intuition."

"I'm glad you joined me! I couldn't have picked out the right pair of gloves for the boys, or visited Knockturn without you…"

But this seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Hermione could see Draco's mask being built back up right before her eyes and he coldly replied, "These would have been travesties indeed."

"That isn't what I meant!"

"What did you mean?"

"I'm just worried about us…"

He only stared at her to continue, saying nothing himself.

Stymied from the conflicting emotions that were swirling through her heart and mind, she managed, "I'm worried we'll get too attached to one another. I know I… well, we need to treat this academically. It doesn't make sense to…" she sighed deeply, seemingly unable to finish a sentence.

"What's this? The famous Miss Granger without an answer at the ready?" he jeered. There was something of his old self in his voice, like he was not entirely jesting with her any longer.

Their food arrived, cutting the conversation short. _How_ _can_ _I_ _make_ _him_ _understand_ _what_ _I_ _want_ _to_ _say_ _when_ _I_ _can't_ _even_ _put_ _it_ _into_ _words, myself?_

When the waitress had gone, she asked, "Did you want this to be a date when I asked you, Draco?"

"I wasn't sure," he admitted, scrutinizing his food with interest. "On one hand, it would be good to get to know you better. On the other, I shouldn't be  _ trying _ to get to know you better at all, for both our sakes."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed.

He tilted an eyebrow at her. "Then we are at an impasse."

"It appears so.”

He pressed, "How does it make you feel that you will be my wife, even in secret?"

She paused, fiddling with her napkin just to have something to do with her hands. "I find it doesn't bother me as greatly as I once thought it would. I'm just glad we could be friends first, since we're going to take this step."

Draco seemed satisfied with her answer, as his mask fell partly away again. A moment later, his eyes were rooted to her hands, where they were nervously twisting her napkin.

She questioned, "How do  _ you _ feel about it?"

The stare Draco fixed her with seemed to penetrate into the deepest part of her soul, and yet he was perfectly frank when he answered, "Surely I've made myself perfectly clear on that subject by now, Hermione."

She blushed a vibrant, Gryffindor red that went all the way to the roots of her hair. _It's_ _a_ _bad_ _idea_ _to_ _get_ _attached_! her reason protested. But though she had been trying her hardest to deny it for the past few weeks, the truth was staring into her eyes from the depths of two slate-colored orbs...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter was written on Purim, at which time I visited a little Jewish deli to order a lox and cream cheese fresser (with capers and onions), just like Hermione did. While there, I overheard a woman explaining to a little girl about religion, and their conversation was the sweetest thing. It inspired the conversation between Hermione and Draco here... a conversation that really, totally needed to happen.
> 
> As always, I 100000% appreciate all the beautiful, fantastic people who left me comments to read! I also must thank my beta - I_was_BOTWP - who has stuck with me, not only through this chapter, but through all my ramblings and blatherings about this story and its (and my) foibles. A whole heap of glitter-confetti for you!


	44. I Know You Do

**** Hands in the pockets of his transfigured coat, Draco's pace steadily slowed until he paused by an alley just a block or two away from the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione almost walked straight into him in her mechanical inattentiveness, as she had been too busy admiring the way he looked in a black pea coat and horn-rimmed glasses. He asked, "Do you know the henge at Avebury?"

She nodded that she did, stopping alongside him. Her thoughts were strewn about in pieces, like the frayed end of a rope.

"I’ll meet you there on Boxing Day… at noon, if that suits you?"

She managed, "It does, but I thought we were planning to meet at your home?"

"There are anti-Apparition wards on the Manor because of my father," he explained. "I thought it would be best to walk into the grounds. It gives you time to turn around if you change your mind."

Taken aback, she repeated, "Change my mind?"

"Yes." He arched a pale eyebrow at her. "I'm not a tyrant, you know. If you choose to meet me in one week, it will be because you want to, not because you've been forced."

Hermione did not know how to answer that, but Draco had apparently not planned to wait for a reply, because a moment later, he was stepping into the alley and making ready to Apparate.

"Draco," she stopped him, not wanting him to leave in such a manner.

After his confession at lunch, Hermione felt scattered and dull, with an ache in her chest she could not put into words. Unfortunately, he had misconstrued her silence into disapproval, and had treated her with polite frostiness for the remainder of their meal together.

At her words, he looked up, waiting for her to say something. His expression was almost bored. "Yes, Granger?"

Her heart sank at the resumed use of her surname, and all at once she felt as if what she could really use in that moment was a good cry.  _ What's wrong with me? Snap out of it, Hermione! _

She approached him timidly and kissed his cheek, whispering, "Happy Christmas."

The corners of his mouth titled up ever so slightly into a not-quite-smile and he returned the gesture, a measure of his coldness slipping away as he pressed his soft lips to her cheek.

"Happy Christmas," he answered. Then he Disapparated, leaving her alone in an alleyway in Muggle London.

.

.

_ She was leaning on an ornate, stone balustrade that looked out over expansive gardens. It was snowing, and though she wore a sleeveless gown, she was not chilly. _

_ "Hermione?" _

_ She turned and Draco was striding toward her, himself wearing a perfectly tailored suit. He looked like something straight out of a Brooks Brothers catalogue. _

_ Instead of approaching her as he usually did – as if she were some sort of skittish animal that might bolt if he moved too quickly – he strode over directly and gathered her in his arms. "You must be cold." _

_ "I'm not," she insisted, smiling up at him. "Thank you." _

_ "Won't you come inside? I don't want you catching a chill." _

_ "Alright." _

_ Taking his hand, she allowed herself to be led toward innumerable French doors on the opposite side of the wide balcony… _

When Hermione woke the next morning she did not remember much of the dream, and the more she tried to grasp at the tendrils of memory, the more they slipped through her fingers until they had completely disappeared.

The sentiment behind it remained, however. Even if she could not remember the details, it frightened her.

.

.

The week passed in intervals both sluggish and ultra-fast. The clock seemed to become its own master, paying no heed to the actual workings of time and space.

On Monday, it rained and Hermione read quite a bit, mostly for pleasure as she was no longer researching a way out of her marriage to Draco. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when she had reconciled herself to the idea of becoming his wife, but she had come to regard their marriage as a given...

On Tuesday, the weather was unseasonably nice again, so Todd took her for a ride on one of his motorbikes. They went into London and visited the British Museum, as they sometimes did together. Surrounded by artifacts from all over the world and marvels from ancient times, Hermione could only think how she would love to take Draco there so he could be astonished by the wonders displayed there, too...

On Wednesday, she finally got a chance to unpack her school trunk. Tucked away into a deep corner, she rediscovered the letter from the Irish alchemist Draco had handed over, and took her time perusing it:

__ Headmistress Minerva McGonagall,  
__ Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry,  
__ The situation your students now find themselves in is deeply concerning. Alchemy is a complex and multifarious art, not to be dabbled in lightly.  
__ My advice to these young people would be to reconcile themselves to the idea that they have likely brought irreversible effects onto themselves through the melding of their bodies, unless they can create the fifth element through further achemal ventures. This is not meant to bring comfort, as it is nearly an impossible task which many have labored over for decades without success.  
__ It is my understanding that certain peoples in sub-Saharan Africa sometimes practice the art of binding themselves together in a similar manner to show commitment to one's life partner. However, as the two young people in question used Salt (the Body of alchemy) in their mandala, I should warn that if they wish to pursue the fifth element, it would be inadvisable for them to partake in copulation of any kind, as they would thus bind their bodies further.  
_ If I may be of further help, please do not hesitate to contact me,  
_ __ Conchobhar Buckley

Though Hermione read and re-read the letter many times, there was no mistaking the writer's intent. Interestingly, the worn parchment it was on, was highly creased – as if someone before her had perused it numerous times as well.

_ Conchobhar Buckley's letter is completely at odds with what Priya and Indira Upadhyaya recommended. _

The matter was perplexing. For the first time, Hermione wanted the truth on the matter.

_ Why, though? You weren't planning even on discussing that fourth option with Draco. _

But she knew why...

On Thursday, the Grangers' receptionist at their office was absent and Hermione offered to step in for her, thankful for something to take her mind off a certain Malfoy she could not seem to get out of her head. The problem was, the harder she tried to distract herself, the more she thought of him.

Christmas music was playing on the radio station in the dentistry office.

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas," the singer crooned, "just like the ones I used to knowwww…." *

Hermione thought of the day Draco proposed. They had trudged through great wafts of snow from Hogsmeade back up to the school, when he had pulled her into a copse of evergreens. There had been an almost-monastic quietude that permeated the air that day, as if the snow had contrived to give them some much-needed privacy on purpose.

_ Draco, I'm really sorry all this happened to us. _

_ Honestly, Hermione, _ he had told her gently,  _ if it had to happen… if it had to be someone… _

"…Where the treetops glisten, and children listen… to hear sleigh bells in the snowwww…" *

Friday was Christmas Eve and Hermione attended church with her parents at her mother's insistence. Given everything her family had gone through recently, she did not try to object. She dressed in her church-going best and climbed into the back seat of the Grangers' car. When they arrived, she was bombarded by an aggregation of folks she had known as a child and whom she had not seen in years. Forcing herself to focus, lest she accidentally say anything suspicious about Hogwarts or the wizarding world as a whole, she was exhausted by the time they finally took their seats in one of the pews near the middle of the packed church.

The service began and from the corner of her memories, Theo's too-smug face surfaced. She recalled telling him,  _ I suppose it won't matter if I tell you for the fourth time that I'm not going to be marrying Draco under any foreseeable circumstances? _

_ That's the thing, sweetheart, _ he grinned,  _ it is foreseeable. _

Was it foreseeable, really? She supposed it must have been…

_ Hermione Malfoy. _

Though she was observing the preacher's liturgy firsthand and with her own eyes, Hermione was in a little Jewish deli in London, with Draco:  _ I think the closest thing I've ever felt to religion is when I'm with you... _

She felt as if her heart was climbing into her mouth, only to suicide itself on the floor of the church.

.

.

Hermione Granger was in love.

It was most inconvenient – not to mention frustrating – because she had vowed to herself that she absolutely would not fall in love with Draco Malfoy.

…She was not sure what to do about it.

.

.

A long, drawn-out panic attack forced Hermione to rearrange her Christmas morning somewhat. Natalie had come upstairs around half past ten to check what was keeping her daughter abed and discovered her sprawled out on the floor, crushing Crookshanks to her chest as she sobbed under the onslaught of her own mind.

"Shhh, love," she crooned, sinking to the floor as well and holding her daughter to herself as Hermione's tears slowly subsided. "All is well, all is well…"

But all was not well, Hermione knew.

In a moment of unguarded guilelessness as the last remains of her panic attack ebbed away, she confessed, "I  _ love _ him, Mum."

"I know, darling," her mother whispered without hesitation as she stroked her fingers through her daughter's wild curls. "I know you do."

.

.

In a still-fragile state of mind, Hermione arrived at the Burrow that evening for Christmas dinner. She was met by a solitary Ginny Weasley, who had been waiting in the foyer for her arrival.

With barely a word in greeting besides a, "Happy Christmas," Ginny took her friend by hand and half-led, half-dragged Hermione to her bedroom on the first floor landing of the Burrow. There, to Hermione's alarm, she burst into tears.

"Ginny! What's the matter? What's happened?"

Ginny Weasley's bedroom was quite small and might once have been a large closet or pantry, but it had a good view of the orchard from a large bay window. The walls were painted pink and decorated with two posters: one of the band 'The Weird Sisters', and another of Gwenog Jones, the Beater and Captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Somewhat cramped, the dresser was a tall, leaning thing that nearly touched the ceiling. A small nightstand beside the twin-sized bed and a narrow writing desk under her window were the only other pieces of furniture. As the chair that matched the desk was full of Ginny's discarded clothing, the only place for Hermione to sit other than the floor was beside her friend on the bed.

When she was younger, Ginny had cried fairly often over the various trials and tribulations of being a preteen – not to mention the Chamber of Secrets incident – but Hermione had not seen her friend do so for a few years now. Once she had accepted who she was and allowed her personality to blossom accordingly, Ginny had become an unstoppable force of nature. As such, her current meltdown seemed almost viciously scheduled.

It was a few moments before she could form a coherent sentence, so violent was her affliction. Finally, she hiccupped, "W-we had Christmas this m-morning and it was the f-first time that…" a loud sob escaped her, "F-Fred wasn't…"

"Wasn't there," Hermione finished for her. "Oh, Ginny."

She pulled her friend into a hug and Ginny clung to her until she cried out the rest of her meltdown. It was cruelly reminiscent of Hermione’s own distress that very morning, except this time, she was the comforting party.

"I knew h-he wouldn't be here, of course… but, well, have you seen G-George?"

Hermione shook her head. She did not think there was much merit in pointing out to Ginny that she had abducted her before she had seen another soul at the Burrow. "How is George?"

Ginny shook her head. "He's been seeing a mind healer – a Muggle one who's supposed to be really good. Dad and Bill helped him move out of the flat over Wheezes he had with Fred. They didn't think it would be healthy for him to go back."

"I imagine not. Has he been living here?"

She nodded. "He was having a really rough time with mirrors until Charlie suggested he grow out his hair. Half the time he looked into one, he thought it was Fred. Mum got rid of all the mirrors, but then it turned into reflections in water. Dad thinks he was  _ looking _ for him…"

"…And the long hair helps him to know that it's him and not Fred, because Fred never had long hair," Hermione deduced. "That's… that's heartbreaking, Ginny."

Wiping her hands across her eyes, Ginny concluded, "I know it's selfish of me to have a meltdown when you compare it to that."

"Of course it isn't. Fred was your brother, too!" she soothed. "In fact, I'm convinced you were so busy putting up a strong, unaffected front that it imploded on you. You can't let your feelings build up like that again."

"But Harry sometimes gets into such a deep depression… and George…"

"Yet despite that, it is not your job to pretend as if you aren't affected like everyone else."

"I know," Ginny admitted, studying her feet. She was no longer sobbing, but her face was still blotchy. "I can't help it, it makes me feel so weak."

"Look at me – look at my panic attacks," Hermione reasoned. "They certainly don't make me feel very nice, but it's better than letting it build up until my shields collapse. No one came out of that war unaffected, Gin. Not you, not me, or Harry, or even Ron – though he seems to be doing the best of the four of us."

"Ron is Ron, that much has always been true," Ginny agreed with a tiny laugh. Sobering again, she queried, "How are you doing with the Malfoy situation?"

"Oh – fine."

Ginny raised one of her rust-colored eyebrows and repeated, "Fine?"

Hermione chuckled, though her stomach made a wide swooping sensation at the very mention of the name. She clarified, "No new research developments to report."

_ It isn't technically a lie… _ she justified to herself, though it still felt like one.

"Look at me, selfishly keeping you all to myself when you haven't even seen the boys yet," Ginny chided herself. "Come on – everyone will be stoked to see you. They've been waiting all day."

.

.

No matter that there had just been a war and that the Weasleys had recently lost one of their own beloved family members, Christmas dinner at the Burrow was boisterous an affair as ever. The sheer number of people that attended the gathering made sure of it.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were delighted to see Hermione, respectively shaking her hand and pulling her into a loving hug. Bill was there with Fleur, as was Charlie, Percy, Percy's longtime girlfriend Audrey, George, Ron, and Ginny. Harry had been staying over break as well.

Of everyone, George was the most changed. In fact, Hermione was sure she would not have recognized him if Ginny had not already mentioned he had grown out his hair. Instead of making him resemble his eldest brother, George's hair was shoulder-length and surprisingly waved with a few curls. Hermione supposed he must have used magic to grow it out. Knowing the reason for the change, coupled with the downturned curve of his unsmiling mouth, was enough to make her heart ache for his sake.

To Hermione's surprise, there was another addition to the family party: Andromeda Tonks and little Teddy Lupin. Though she had no problem whatsoever with Andromeda herself, Hermione steered clear of her nonetheless; the woman looked too much like her late sister, Bellatrix. Hermione's skin crawled at the sight of those long, black curls and heavy-lidded eyes. She occupied herself instead with bouncing Teddy on her knee. Only a few months old, the baby's hair changed from green to powder-blue as he gurgled happily.

After indulging in a sinful amount of Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking, Harry, Ron, and Hermione retreated to Ron's bedroom on the topmost floor of the Burrow. The ghoul in the attic seemed to be in a jolly Christmas mood of its own, because it clanked loudly when it heard their approach.

"Oi! Keep it down, you!" Ron shouted at the bedroom ceiling.

The ghoul groaned in response, but while it did not cease its noise-making entirely, it did grow quieter.

"It misses staying in my room," Ron explained to his friends. The Weasleys had disguised the ghoul as Ron, sick with spattergroit, to explain his absence from Hogwarts during the war. "I never got those pyjamas back, either. It  _ likes _ them…"

"Probably wouldn't fit you anymore anyway," Harry teased, "as you've grown another foot, roughly."

In retaliation, or perhaps to prove a point, Ron snatched Harry's glasses from his face and held them above his friend's head.

"Hey!  _ Ron _ ...!"

As Harry was more than a bit blind without his glasses, and nowhere near as tall as his best friend, all he could do was snatch wildly at the Ron-shaped blur before him.

Giggling, Hermione entreated, "Oh, give them back Ron. Harry was only teasing…"

"Only doing you a favor, mate," Ron joked, though he handed Harry back his glasses just the same. "Surely you didn't want them... don't you share a common room with Millicent Bulstrode? She's got a face like Fang's."

Chortling, the Golden Trio settled comfortably in a sort-of circle on the threadbare rug as it was the only space large enough for the three of them. Hermione conjured a jar full of her bluebell flames to hover between them all. For a sweet moment, it felt like old times.

Harry spoke up, "You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I kind of miss potions with the Slytherins."

Ron gaped. Hermione arched an eyebrow at her friend. "Come again?"

He shrugged. "I dunno… just, it was always entertaining combining Gryffindors, Slytherins, and volatile chemicals."

Ron looked incredulous, "It's official, mate: you’re mental."

The three friends joked around for some time, never touching on any subject too serious for long. Finally, Hermione remembered, "I meant to ask you boys: where did you get this bracelet you gave me for my birthday?"

"It was in Sirius's vault at Gringotts," Harry explained, eyeing the jewelry in question on her wrist. "After the, er, break-in, Gringotts required all their account-holders to verify what was in their vaults. I didn't realize until then that the Black family had hired one of the goblins working for the bank to act as an accountant to take care of their fortune. I went there over the summer and had to go through the entire vault with him. It caught my attention, so Ron and I got it re-set for you."

"It was mighty ugly before, Hermione," Ron confirmed. "Harry and I both thought so."

"Why do you ask?" Harry wanted to know.

"I came across mention of these gemstones in my research.” Just like with Ginny earlier in the evening, it was not technically a lie. “They're supposed to be quite rare, so I was curious."

"Speaking of research, 'Mione," Ron interjected, "how goes it trying to get unbound from the Great Bouncing Ferret?"

"No new research developments to report," she replied, echoing what she had told his sister earlier.

Her answer seemed to appease Ron's curiosity, because he clapped her on the back and sympathized, "Once we get back to Hogwarts, we can both help you research some more."

But Harry, she noticed, was silent. To her endless mortification, his eyes were narrowed somewhat and he was observing her with a Slytherin's chary calculation, his eyes rooted to her bracelet. The stones had turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, lots happening in this chapter! I'd love to know what you think in a comment. Thank you so much to everyone who left one. Sorry if the daily updates for the last four chapters or so are making anyone fall behind!
> 
> There are two * to denote the lyrics to the song, "White Christmas", which was originally composed by Irving Berlin, and sung by Bing Crosby. I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	45. The Bridemeet, Part I

**** Hermione glanced dubiously into her closet, pulling some of the hangers back as she searched for… well, she was not exactly sure. The lilac-colored dress she had worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding was near the front, having been worn fairly recently. As she dug through the long-untouched depths, however, she came across such relics as her First Communion dress and an old Halloween costume (she had gone as a witch two years before she found out she actually was one). A bit of musty taffeta from an old dance costume she had worn when she was seven made her wrinkle her nose.

_ What is one meant to wear to a Bridemeet? _

From her bed, Crookshanks yawned and stretched out a lazy paw, blinking contentedly up at his mistress. She met his yellow eyes and said, "What do you think, Crooks? Jeans and a jumper?"

Her cat offered no reply, instead choosing to resume his nap.

"You're right," she murmured absently, continuing her search. Once, she probably would have taken a certain amount of pleasure in picking out something so informal – especially when it was for an event that she would not even be attending if it were not for the Malfoys’ insistence.

She had nearly decided to simply wear it anyway, when something at the back of her closet, tucked away into the farthest corner, caught her eye. Extracting the garment took a bit of doing, but once she had finally got it out, her eyes raked over the skirt she had worn in the summer before third year, to her parents’ colleague’s wedding. The skirt was the epitome of Gryffindor: crimson with gold trim along the hem and on the sleeves. In fact, at thirteen, she had originally chosen to wear it for that very reason. While the thought of showing up in her former House's colors to Malfoy Manor made her smile, the skirt certainly would be too small for her now.

_ Are you a witch, or not? _ twelve-year-old Ron taunted her from the recesses of her mind.

She sank onto her bed, laying it beside her. Absentmindedly stroking Crookshanks, she indulged the idea of what Narcissa Malfoy might say if she showed up in all her Gryffindor glory. The very thought of it made her snicker.

She rooted around in her chest of drawers for a top to match it, coming up with a crimson cardigan to match the skirt and a black undershirt. Laying them beside the skirt, she looked at her chosen outfit and felt only pride. After all, as she understood it, a Bridemeet was really just a wizarding word for a day in which a pre-nuptual agreement was decided on and signed… and she would show the Malfoys that – Ravenclaw or not – she was a Gryffindor. She was not some delicate pureblood witch…she was Hermione Granger.

"Engorgio."

It took some fancy transfiguration to make the outfit presentable; the skirt had to be let out in the hips, taken in slightly at the waist… at one point, she accidentally began unraveling the entire hemline while trying to lengthen it. About twenty minutes later, she had successfully altered the red-and-gold skirt into an acceptable garment, and set about painstakingly making sure the cardigan and skirt were the same color crimson.

When she was finished, she looked on her handiwork with satisfaction and got dressed. Standing in front of her mirror, she observed herself.The outfit felt exactly correct for a meeting at Malfoy Manor, with the skirt just at her knees, and the cardigan being modest enough. Her eyes went to her forearms: on one was Draco’s Dark Mark, while on the other, her ‘Mudblood’ scar was on display.

_ Good _ , she decided scathingly, even as she hated to look at both.  _ Let them be reminded why we are doing this at all. _

.

.

About six miles from the town of Marlborough sat the henges around the village of Avebury. Three circles of awe-inspiring stone monoliths – two smaller spheres inside an enormous one – were remnants of a long-forgotten age, well before England was ever England. The outer henge was little more than a bank and a ditch, but the overall sight was rather impressive. A flock of sheep meandered through the historic site while a few off-season tourists loitered about taking photographs, all uncaring that it was late December as they enjoyed the unseasonably forgiving weather. As it had rained the previous night, there was more than a bit of fog clinging heavily to the air and lending the entire place a mysterious aura.

Draco was waiting against one of the smaller monoliths, just as he said he would be. He wore the black pea coat Hermione had transfigured for him last week and a gray scarf. His hair was loosely framing his face and a fringe at the front of his forehead was somewhat out of place, having been tumbled about by the wind. As he spotted her approaching, he stood from where he had been leaning and crossed the still-green lawn to meet her.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," she apologized. She was wearing a long pea coat of her own over her outfit, so that just the hem of the gold trim peeked out from underneath. "Mum was fretting."

She did not add that she and Todd had another row about her impending nuptials.

"I half expected you to stand me up, if I'm honest," he told her.

"I thought about it," Hermione replied honestly. It was true, she had almost had another panic attack that morning. "But, no. We started this, we need to take responsibility for it."

"This way to your doom, then," he japed sardonically.

With a laugh, she took his offered arm and he set a leisurely pace across the expanse of lawn.

As they walked, Draco detailed some of the history of the henge, which had once been meaningful to ancient pagans in their rituals. "Around the time the majority of the wizarding world went into hiding from Muggles, suspicious Christians destroyed most of this place, rendering it virtually useless."

"Fascinating," she breathed, gazing at the enormous stones. "What were they originally used for?"

As Draco launched into an explanation about pagan weather rituals and giving praise to the seasons, they left the landmark behind and headed toward a small edging of trees. As there were open fields on all sides of them, Hermione wondered where they could be headed that would house the entirety of Malfoy Manor…

She did not have to wonder long. They approached the Manor by way of a small and surprisingly unremarkable footpath that wound deep into what was evidently a much larger forest than the small copse of trees she had seen.

_ It's concealed by magic _ , she deduced.  _ That tiny fringe of trees is actually an entire forest with its own estate! _

Just as Hermione began to be impressed by the modesty of the avenue, especially considering to whose house it led, they came upon the main driveway.

The fact that there was a driveway at all was superfluous, as it was not attached to any road. A tall and precisely trimmed hedge curved along the gravel drive, leading up to an austere wrought-iron gate. Hermione recognized this gate as the very one she, Harry, and Ron had been dragged up to following their capture last May. Her breathing hitched.

Draco cast her a shrewd sidelong glance, as if he were guessing her thoughts. He quietly assured her, "We aren't going that way. There's a side entrance."

She tried not to look relieved.

"This way."

He offered his hand, which she took without hesitation - an act that surely would never have happened only months ago - and led her toward the imposing barrier that lined the drive. She queried, "Are we going to pass through that hedgerow?"

"Magic," he reminded her cheekily. By way of further explanation, he informed, "I'm the head of my household. The Manor will allow you passage so long as you're with me."

Hermione glanced down at where their hands were joined and noted that the Malfoy signet ring was indeed sitting on his finger. In another moment, they were melting into the shrubbery as if it were no more than smoke.

The sight that next met her eyes was one of opulent grandeur. Elaborate gardens stretched before them. Fir-wood posts formed a complicated pattern of connected arbors planted with at least four varieties of grapes. Three small ponds sprawled beyond, with lilies pooling lightly on their still surfaces and orange-and-white fish dancing beneath. A corner of one of these ponds was decorated with an ornate bench and shaded by a fine pair of fig trees. To their right was a winding gravel path that meandered up toward the Manor past a series of pristine topiaries. An enormous fountain made up the centerpiece of the entire display, wherein three stone mermaids sat back-to-back in the center with water gushing from their mouths, wide open – like their eyes – in ecstasy.

Tucking her arm through Draco's once more, Hermione again allowed him to set the pace and direction, having too many things to look at simultaneously. The yew hedge they had entered from featured albino peacocks strutting along the top of it.

"Peacocks?" she queried mischievously, her eyes snapping to Draco for an answer.

He sighed, "They're my father's. He won't part with them."

"Lucius Malfoy is fond of his pretty peacocks. Who could have guessed?" she teased.

"Minx," he muttered, though he smirked all the same.

They took many detours on their way up to the house so Draco could point things out to her. The most intriguing was when he led her into the greenhouse, where the duo spent nearly twenty minutes walking around the collection of rare and beautiful plants. There was one flower he indicated particularly: it had emerald blooms, its petals faintly shimmering.

"This one has negligible senescence," he specified. "That means…"

"…It regenerates itself when it's damaged," she finished for him. "How fascinating! Just like a starfish."

The corners of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile, "I should've known you would already know. Forgot who I was talking to…"

She grinned.

"It reminds me of you."

Her grin slipped from her face. "Of me? Why?"

"After everything you went through…look at you. You can barely tell you were ever damaged."

Taken aback, she stammered, "Wait until I take my coat off and all these scars are on display."

"I didn't mean physically," he clarified.

Hermione's cheeks tinged pink. "I don't know what to say."

“You don’t need to say anything,” he clarified. “It was merely an observation.”

Presently, they left the greenhouses and continued their way up toward the manor house. In an effort to make conversation, she asked, "What did your family do for Christmas?"

"Exchanged gifts and had supper," he drawled. "Theo came. He asked after you."

"That's silly," she chided. "As if he didn't already know how I was."

"How about you? Manage any mischief over the holiday?"

Ignoring his ribald comment, she primly answered, "My parents and I did gifts in the morning, though I think Crookshanks had the best time. He likes chasing the balled-up wrapping paper. I went to the Weasleys' after."

His obvious sneer at this revelation made his opinion on the matter quite clear, though he said nothing.

"They're good people, Draco."

He only inclined his head toward her.

The conversation was soon forgotten as they rounded the next corner and began walking along the path to the Manor's east side. Ahead, there loomed a mid-sized domed structure made of large glass panels jutting out from the main of the building.

She swallowed. "Is that the solarium?"

Draco nodded. "Are you ready to go in?"

_ Don't be afraid and don't be delicate, _ her inner Gryffindor challenged. Lifting her chin, she answered, "Let's go."

On its east side, the solarium was covered in trellises that boasted a variety of blooms from morning glories to roses to some other flowering plant Hermione did not recognize. Their combined fragrances were divine. For a second, she wondered how the garden could be so bountiful in December, before recalling Draco's jeering reminder:  _ Magic _ .

Right.

A glass door was set into one of the western-facing panels of the structure. They approached through an arched pergola covered with the same blossoms. Draco held the door for her and she went inside, not allowing herself the weakness of hesitation.

The inside was huge and warmed from the sun like the greenhouse had been. Plants lined the walls, lending the place an exquisite smell. Sunshine filtered through the glass ceiling panels, rendering the aura almost heavenly. Draco had been correct: this place was very different from the Malfoy Manor that sometimes haunted her nightmares.

A glass table wide enough to seat at least ten took up much of the center of the room and a butler's tray beside it was heavily laden with everything Hermione could have wanted for afternoon tea. A willow-patterned teapot was steaming lazily, while matching plates were heavy with scones and clotted cream, cucumber sandwiches, petit fours, and more.

_ Charming _ , is what Mrs. Granger would have called it.

A staircase toward the back led to an interior balcony that looked over the solarium. A door at the top led off somewhere.

Draco helped her with her coat, finally revealing her red-and-gold ensemble and the juxtaposing marks in obvious contrast on her forearms. He sucked in a breath as he noted her choice. It was such a very  _ loud _ statement on her part, Hermione wondered what was going through his head. But while his eyes raked over her several times and his expression spoke of borderline exasperation at her, he said nothing aloud.

Before long, the door at the top of the stair opened and Narcissa appeared. "Ah, Draco, excellent…and Miss Granger. You certainly took your time getting here."

"Hello, mother."

She began descending the staircase, a milky-pale hand brushing along the balustrade as she went. She looked lovely, her blonde hair pulled back into an elegant, low bun. "Your father will be along shortly."

Deciding to be civil, Hermione greeted, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa's gaze turned to her houseguest with an expression just shy of obvious disdain as her eyes swept over her choice in outfit. Lip curling somewhat as her gaze took in the gold trim of the skirt, her gaze flickered to Hermione's left forearm, which bore the sneering Dark Mark, to her right arm, lingering on the haphazardly carved letters of her late sister's manic hatred.

Luckily, Hermione was spared the witch's comments as Lucius arrived. While he remained tall and broad-shouldered as ever, Mr. Malfoy no longer sported his distinctive curtain of white-blond locks. Instead, his hair was cropped short and neatly parted to one side, as one might see on an accomplished businessman or politician. This change threw his features into sharper relief: his nose and chin appeared more pointed than ever, his gray eyes like mercurial orbs. Hermione wondered at the drastic change and what had brought it on.

Lucius made his way down the staircase and toward the group assembled by the glass table. Hermione noticed he was taking his time, leaning a bit more heavily upon his cane than she recalled previously. Unlike his wife, Mr. Malfoy did not curl his lip at the sight of her, merely inclining his head and coldly greeting, "Miss Granger."

She returned the greeting and they all sat. A palpably awkward silence descended and Hermione suppressed a shiver. Lucius took out an ostentatious quill and turned his attention to an enormous stack of parchment, which Hermione would swear had not been on the table a moment ago.

_ It couldn't be all that! _ she inwardly cried with dismay. The stack of parchment must have been eight inches tall!

Narcissa prepared tea for them as her husband shuffled through the daunting sheaves of parchment. Even the act of preparing tea seemed to have its small ceremonies, as Hermione noticed Narcissa served Draco first, even before her husband.

"Miss Granger, how do you take your tea?"

"Just a little lemon please."

_ I am having a tea party with the Malfoys.  _ When did life become so strange?

Finally, Lucius seemed to have done with organizing his paperwork when he proposed, "Shall we begin?"

"Please, let us be done with this as soon as possible," Narcissa encouraged, sipping her own tea. "There is no use belaboring the agony."

The low flame guttering in Hermione's core was started to life. "I might remind you that this was  _ your _ wish, considering all the mail Draco and I received from you to bring this about."

"Anyone may see the benefits of the match, at least in the short-term," Narcissa snapped, her eyes raking over Hermione's scarred arms once more. "It does not mean I approve."

"Fortunately, your approval is not necessary," Draco hinted strongly, spearing his mother with a glance, "just your civility, mother."

Turning her son, she spat, "You expect me to be civil to a young woman who was brought into my home as a wanted fugitive only months ago? A young woman who likely  _ rejoices _ in the fact that she will bring about an end to a thousand-year-old dynasty of purity?"

"Your tongue appears to have been suddenly possessed by incivility, mother," Draco drawled, his eyes half-lidded and narrowed at her. "As you cannot control it, I must ask you to remove yourself from this room during proceedings."

Her eyes grew wide; if it were not for the severity in Draco's voice, Narcissa's reaction would almost have been comical.

"I'm _your_ _mother_ , Draco," she reminded him.

"Yes, but that does not change the fact that I am asking you to leave."

Narcissa’s faux-pleasant demeanor was gone in an instant; Hermione was taken aback by the rapid change from the woman who had asked her how she took her tea, to the snarling witch now sitting in her place. "Why couldn't you have picked a different witch, Draco? If it had to be a Mudblood, why couldn't you have chosen to consort with one that wasn't _so_ _famous_ for being one?"

"Mother…"

But she did not heed him. "We could have…I don't know…faked some wizarding relatives for her. But with you, it is full to the hilt, or no battle at all…"

"You would have let me marry a Muggle-born so long as you could have faked wizarding relatives? Why? Hasn't this – our lives, the war, everything – been about pure bloodlines?"

"It's been about  _ names _ , you fool!"

"Narcissa," Lucius interjected patiently. "Go and calm yourself. I will be along later."

With a look of utter loathing directed at Hermione, Narcissa set her teacup down on the tray remarkably gently for how violently she stormed from the room. The door slammed behind her. Presently, they could hear her distant scream of rage from within the Manor.

"Now that the lady of the house has vacated the room," Lucius drawled, seemingly bored with the entire exchange, "perhaps we might get back to the matter at hand?"

The completeness of Lucius's uncaring was breathtaking.

Draco turned to Hermione, rage still evident in his eyes, though she could tell it was not directed at her. "I apologize for my mother's behavior. She has been under considerable stress, though that does not excuse her volatility. Would you prefer to take some time before we continue?"

Hermione shook her head, less affected than he seemed to think she should be. "No, thank you. The sooner we start, the sooner we can get this over with."

"Let us begin, then," said Lucius. Draco retrieved his spectacles from his robes pocket and donned them; Hermione's heart did a little flip the way it always did when he wore his glasses.

She was not at all prepared for the magnitude of the document they would be reviewing. It was over eighty pages long, with several clauses and provisions mentioned on most pages – these could be referenced in a legal tome that was so large, it would not have fit into her school bag without magic.

They went over every sentence, some of them twice. If a choice was to be made, Lucius made a note of their decision as they went; Hermione wished she were at a good angle to read over his shoulder. Not once did Mr. Malfoy look at her, or at Draco, as he read aloud.

Most of the articles declared distribution of wealth. This was not a surprise; these were financial protections, safeguards against debts, stipulations that Malfoy property would remain within the family. There was an entire five pages that referenced a living will for the Manor and its possessions, laying down a rule that even if all three Malfoys were to perish, Hermione would not get a single knut.

"Believe it or not, I'm not here for your money," she scoffed, offended at Lucius's bluntness as he relayed the terms.

He ignored her. Hermione wished she had hired a lawyer.

Separate bank accounts, separate properties… the document seemed to go on and on forever. About halfway through, when they reached the appropriate section, Draco put the question to her: "It's custom that the estate presents a new wife with one of the family jewels for a ring. Would you prefer…?"

"We're to have rings?" she blurted out.

He blinked at her abrupt interruption, "Well… yes?"

Coloring somewhat, she grimaced as she asked, "I thought we were keeping this marriage a secret?"

"We haven't reached that section yet," Lucius put in acerbically.

"It's just that if we're keeping the entire marriage a secret, having rings seems to go against that," she insisted.

Draco frowned. "It's tradition."

"Perhaps – but one based on affection, I think."

His frown deepened. "No one is asking you to wear it, just that you keep it."

"Fine," she snapped, her brain all jumbled with legal jargon. "A simple wedding band, then. Nothing flashy."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more on the matter. "It will be arranged. Would you prefer one of the Gringotts goblins to inspect it for enchantments following its removal from the vault, or will you be providing your own inspector?"

She had not thought of that. "Gringotts is fine."

"As you say," he sneered in reply, marking the page with her answer.

Still the document went on. Every miniscule thing seemed to be accounted for: which funds were to be appropriated for the honeymoon ("There won't be one!" she exclaimed, hot in the face) to terms of secrecy (this was nine pages long) to the longest list yet, of what-ifs.

"I need a break from this," she finally admitted, rising to stand. They were nearly two-thirds of the way through it all and her wits felt like scattered flotsam. "For a quarter of an hour, maybe."

Draco stood as well, offering, "I'll join you."

"That's not necessary…" she began.

"It's a fine day," he insisted in final sort of voice that brooked no opposition. "Some fresh air and a few moments away from this will do us both some good."

Lucius did not even look up from his parchment, merely taking a sip of his tea. From spending so much time around Draco, however, Hermione thought she noticed him subtly watching them interact while seeming as though he wasn't. He cautioned, "Don't be long, there’s still much to discuss..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters at once! Well, that's nice, right? Thank you, as always, to everyone who left remarks! It's not an understatement to say I'd have probably given up on this fic long ago, if not for you. Seriously, I appreciate it more than you know.
> 
> My beta for this chapter was Frogster - thank you so much!
> 
> On to the second half!


	46. The Bridemeet, Part II

“I’m sorry for all the paperwork,” Draco apologized as the two of them headed across the grounds. They had left their coats inside, opting instead to cast Warming Charms on themselves. “I did warn you it was complicated. Can you imagine trying to do all of this through owl, or some other way?”

"No," Hermione agreed. Where he was leading her, she did not know, but it was not the same direction they had approached from. "It was more practical to meet, but… why is all this necessary?"

He paused by a hedgerow of impeccably trimmed yellow roses. "The estate is large and relatively complicated…"

She shook her head, "No, I mean all the pomp surrounding it. I've done quite a bit of research into magical law and all this is not strictly necessary, or even better…why…?"

He merely shrugged, "It's the way it's always been done, I guess."

"But you and I are far from a traditional pureblood match. Why bother adhering?"

Draco plucked one of the roses and inhaled its scent. "I suppose I never thought to do it any other way."

"But that's ridiculous! Things aren't better simply because that's how they've always been done..."

Possibly to assuage her passion, he tucked the yellow rose behind her ear, rearranging her curls so that it sat nicely. "Are you shocked by the practice itself, or that you consider it backward?"

"Both, I imagine." Her hand went to the rose in concern; with her wild locks, it was possible her hair would swallow the flower and it would not be seen again for days.

He seemed to think on this for a moment as they continued their path. "How do Muggles go about these things, then?"

"Usually it's put all in, and hope for the best," she told him honestly. They reached a bend in the hedge and followed it, tucking the Manor away behind them.

"Magic, though," he reminded her, gesturing vaguely into the air with his hand.

"Well, yes, but…"

Without warning, he was leaning toward her. It had been so long since they had shared a proper kiss that Hermione went very still and quiet with anticipation, her argument instantly forgotten. His lips hovered over hers, trying to gauge if he was making a welcome gesture. In her impatience, she sealed the distance between them and brushed her mouth against his, a soft coaxing for him to continue what he had begun, to which he responded eagerly.

His hand reached into her curls, long fingers tangling into her hair as he pulled her head closer to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted without any further enticement and Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer still. She could feel his smirk against her mouth as his fingers threaded from her hair and roved seemingly everywhere at once. He left trails of velvety smooth titillation down the sides of her neck, her arms, settling into the curve of her waist and brushing across her hips. Draco's fingers traced the subtle outline of her hipbones through the front of her skirt and she shivered. There was a fire of need within her, sputtering to life with his gentle teasing. Their tongues twined, pulled apart, coupled again – and for a moment, all was right with the universe.

Her head was spinning. He tasted like the tea they had been drinking, married with unadulterated lust. As he pressed his body against hers, her entire core erupted with electricity.

Butterfly-soft, his hands were now palming her breasts. A low moan escaped her lips and she managed to breathily murmur, "Won't we…be seen?"

"Not a chance," he growled, though he pushed them further into the rosebushes nonetheless. She expected to feel sharp thorns prickling into her legs and back, but there was only softness.

Hermione could feel his semi-hardened erection against the inner part of her thigh as he inserted his leg between hers and began kissing her again. She placed her hands against his chest, allowing one to trail down to the considerable bulge forming in his trousers.

He released her mouth to suck in a breath as her hand made contact. "We shouldn't…not here…it will be painfully obvious when we go back…"

"We shouldn't  _ what _ , Draco?" she queried saucily, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.

"Witch!" he gasped as she slowly moved her hand up and down across the fabric stretching across the now fully hardened length of him.

She met his lips again, this time with her own smirk adorning her face.

One of his hands disappeared beneath the hem of her cardigan, sliding up her stomach and bypassing her bra so that he could twist her nipple and elicit a gasp. With a satisfied huff, Draco flicked her hardened peak with his fingers and twisted again. Her back arched against him in response and he groaned as she felt his length twitch around her hand.

Somewhat short of breath, he whispered into the shell of her ear, "There is a private place nearby – some old mews – if you want…"

"Mews?" she repeated, stunned as she tried to piece together what exactly he was suggesting.

"Just there, through that copse," he pointed, then added, "if you want."

"Show me."

He adjusted his tented trousers and led her by the hand through the small thicket of hornbeams at the edge of the formal gardens. As they parted the trees and low brambles, a small building came into view. Hermione barely had time to register the low wooden structure before Draco was pulling her inside.

It was clearly a place where hunting goshawks had once been housed. The fittings and trappings of falconry were still laid neatly out in the main room, hung tidily on the walls or set on the table, while four vacant aviaries with wire roofs stretched off to the right.

Without a word as to his intentions, Draco swept his hand across the top of the low table at the center of the room and sent the caps and harnesses tumbling to the floor. He cast a  _ scourgify _ on the work station - though it seemed to be largely clean already - and hauled Hermione onto it so that she was facing him. He was between her legs in an instant, her skirt bunching up around her hips. She could feel her face flushing with the knowledge that he now had full view of her knickers, but there was no time to pay much heed to this concern before his mouth conquered hers once more.

"Let me bring you with my tongue," he whispered into her ear.

She gasped, even as his mouth sucked at the place on her neck where her pulse thrummed. "Yes...please."

He dropped to his knees, scooting her bum closer to the edge of the table and spreading her legs wider. Hermione's thighs were trembling with innocent trepidation. As Draco pushed her dress up further so that they sat fully above her hips, her legs began to close with embarrassment. With a growl, he placed her ankles on his shoulders and ran his fingers along the front of her knickers.

Taking his time, he ran his fingers across the fabric there, teasing her. Once he seemed satisfied that he had driven her at least partially barmy, he slid her knickers – torturously slow – down her legs, lifting first one ankle off his shoulder, then the other. Discarding them on the floor, Hermione watched as he took his first look at her most intimate place.

For a moment, he only paused, and she began to grow nervous. Was there something wrong with her? Before she could voice any concern, he pressed his fingers against her entrance without penetrating, causing her to elicit a small mewling noise.

“What I wouldn’t give to have you now,” he murmured. She was spared responding when, experimentally, he leaned in and licked at the tiny bud above her slit.

Biting back a cry of pleasure at the sensation, she could not stop it escaping her as his tongue lathed over her clitoris a second time, this time making a longer swipe with the broadest part of his tongue. Carefully, Draco used a single finger to part her folds, sliding back and forth across her entrance. Her entire body felt tense with inexperience but she soon gave way to him, her legs spreading wider to allow him better access.

She had just begun to enjoy the experience, when her ear caught the sound of a fly being unzipped. Eyes widening, she looked down; he had pushed his trousers down and was stroking himself. Catching her look, he said, "Don't worry, I remember the agreement. Just giving myself some relief, too."

Her stomach fluttered, “Okay…”

He was licking her again, and a heady build-up was beginning in her sacrum. Trusting that he would not do anything she wasn’t ready for, she gave in to pleasure. Her vision had gone somewhat glassy; she could feel perspiration beading on her forehead and upper lip.

"Draco…" she whined, knowing what was imminent.

Her orgasm crashed upon her suddenly and she emitted a high cry that she quickly stifled. Crushing her to his face, he lapped at her center as she came.

Afterward, she went limp, simply watching him as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. Something about the action made her feel suddenly self-conscious – as if they had not just shared something so very intimate – and she swept her legs up onto the table, sitting with them curled against her chest as she looked at him, watching the way he still stroked himself.

Reaching an arm out with wavering confidence, she batted his hand away from his member and took the length of him into her palm. His head tipped back of its own volition at her touch. "Merlin, that feels amazing…"

In her mind, Hermione began to weigh her options. She could bring Draco like this and watch as he spilt his life-giving seed all over himself and the floor of the mews. She could take him in her mouth, as she had before, and reacquaint her tongue with all the intimate contours of him: the throbbing vein that led to the head, the softness of his skin stretched tight over the hardness of his cock.

Or…

_ No _ , her brain reminded her firmly.  _ Bad idea. _

"Your turn," she murmured, standing from the table and retrieving her knickers. "On the table."

He did as she bid, and she wondered if he cared that he had just blindly taken an order from her. She sank to her knees and winced at the hardness of the ground. After casting a cushioning charm on the floor, she set to work on him. Bringing him to peak did not take long after the long tease that had preceded it. He burst into her mouth in creamy spurts, uttering a lingering groan as he released.

Allowing some time for their breathing to stabilize, the young couple set their clothes to rights. Once they had finished, Draco pressed his mouth to hers again and Hermione savored the taste of their sexes mingling.

"We're both a bit flushed," she observed when they parted. "We should walk a bit more, or your father will guess what we've been doing."

Draco agreed and gave her a brief tour of the mews, explaining that his grandfather had been an avid falconer. When Abraxas had passed, his birds were released if possible, re-homed if not. "It's still cleaned regularly," he assured her, "though no one has used it for some years."

"I can't believe we are having a conversation this normal after…" she trailed off, blushing suddenly that she had brought it up at all.

He smirked. "While I think your blush is very pretty, Hermione, it amuses me that you still do it after these many weeks of messing around in hidden places – and after allowing me to lick that glorious quim of yours until you came on my face. While my father is waiting for our return, nonetheless…"

She turned an even deeper shade of crimson at the reminder that Lucius was waiting for them. Gazing up at the manor, she was reminded of the Sisyphean task that awaited them there. With a somewhat unhinged laugh, she suggested, "Maybe we could just elope."

His eyes widened.

"I'm kidding," she added hastily at his astonished expression.

"It's not a bad idea…but I've a better one. How would you feel about New Years' Eve?"

"This Thursday?"

He nodded, "A year and a day from Thursday is January 1, 2000."

"How… symbolic," she murmured. A hollow feeling settled into her stomach, accompanied by a taste like ash in her mouth. Raising her eyes to his, she interpreted, "A new era to begin our lives again."

"Exactly."

He said it so eagerly – almost coldly, heartlessly – that Hermione's insides felt as if they had been reduced to rubble, weighing her down. "Might as well get it over with, is what you're saying."

"Isn't that what you want?"

_ I want you. _

Outwardly, she lied, "I don't know what I want anymore, Draco.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not at all?”

She chewed her bottom lip. Then, in an effort to lighten the mood, she laughed, “I want not to have to do all that paperwork.”

With an amused glance, he replied, “I suppose that would be one thing in the favor of eloping…We could just have the Ministry draft something basic.”

Despite the offhanded way in which he made the remark, Hermione’s brain was turning with it the entire time they walked back up to the manor.

They re-entered the solarium through the side door they had used previously. Lucius was reading a small book and using magic to make himself another cuppa. He did not look up as Hermione approached, which was probably lucky for her, because he did not anticipate what was coming.

" _ Incendio _ ," she cast on the whole stack of paperwork.

The ex-Death Eater glanced up as the last tiny pieces of burnt parchment fluttered to the ground. "Might I ask why you thought that was necessary?"

She ignored the question, instead informing him, "If Draco and I are still married after a year and a day, we will draft a formal contract – with lawyers present."

"There  _ must _ be a legal document for any marriage, you foolish girl."

"Fine. We’ll use of the basic ones the Ministry provides for those who elope. I don’t want anything of yours, and he isn’t entitled to anything of mine, either. Everything can remain separate, just as you want." She thought for a moment before adding, "And I’ll keep my maiden name."

Lucius's nostrils were flaring and his face was white with how livid he was. "Your legal name changes automatically in the Ministry register. You have also just undone hours of work that will need to be re-written…"

"No."

In a dangerous voice, he quietly repeated, "No?"

"I'm not comfortable signing a legally binding document this complicated without a lawyer present – and you are going to have to deal with that if you or your son ever want to be free of me." She folded her arms across her chest and stared down at him in what she hoped was an intimidating manner, "We will wed on Thursday at the Ministry and it will be as I have said: I don't get anything of Draco's and he doesn't get anything of mine."

Finally overcoming his shock that she had done something so brash, Draco hastily added, "So long as we add the stipulation that a more formal document be agreed on if divorce turns out to be a non-option."

_ If divorce turns out to be a non-option… _

_ Could he mean…? _

Lucius's mouth had become a thin line, but he might have been commenting on the weather when he remarked to his son, "Celibacy, in this case, would be a virtue, Draco."

"Whatever your precious bloodlines might be worth to you," Hermione retorted nastily, "it's  _ me _ who will be married to a person whose parents allowed me to be tortured in their home."

"My dear departed sister-in-law may have been depraved, girl, but she was merely toying with you that evening. What you endured was nothing – nothing – compared with how my own wife was tortured at the Dark Lord's hand."

With mock concern, Hermione voiced, "Oh, is that why she's bloody insane?"

"Partly," Draco muttered under his breath.

This angle had never occurred to Hermione before, and so she shut her mouth with a snap and whirled around to look him in the eye to discern the truth.

"Only partly," he clarified. "She's more quick to anger and somewhat less collected than she used to be..."

"Draco, I doubt your mother would appreciate…"

"I'm not sure I care what mother would appreciate, Father – as she has made it perfectly clear that my wishes do not matter to her whatsoever."

Lucius looked as though his son had struck him.

Turning to Hermione, Draco said, "Shall I walk you back to the henge?"

It was masked as an offer, but it was not really a suggestion at all. Hermione wondered if he was angry she had destroyed their marriage contract. All the same, she donned her coat and took his arm.

Their walk back through the woodland path toward Avebury seemed to take no time at all. About halfway down the footpath, Draco observed, "That did not go well."

"No," Hermione agreed grimly. "I knew it was a bad idea for me to go. Why did you tell me your father wanted to meet me? You must have known he didn't…"

"He's been drafting that legal document for weeks. It's about the only thing he has been allowed to do for the estate. I think he's been going a bit stir-crazy being locked up in there for the past couple months with only my mother for company."

"Was she…was she really tortured quite badly, Draco?"

"Yes."

"And you? You were also tortured horribly in her place, weren't you?"

He said nothing.

"You know, I think you could have been a Gryffindor."

Draco growled and shot her a look of loathing.

She burst into laughter. "Wouldn't that just have been it?  _ You _ could have been resorted into Gryffindor, and  _ I _ could have been a Slytherin. How the tables would have turned!"

"I would have left on the first train home," he retorted snottily. Then, eyeing her, he added, "Your Slytherin streak, however, is a mile wide."

"Draco, I just set fire to your father's labors for the past few weeks and accused your mother of being insane right to his face," she reminded him. "I'm Gryffindor, through and through."

"Oh, yes, you're a saucy lioness alright," he agreed with a lazy smirk. Then, more seriously, he admitted, "I'm looking forward to Thursday."

_ I want you. _

With a sad smile as she recalled the reason for their union, she half-heartedly seconded, "Me, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed your lemon cream pie! My beta on this chapter was Frogster - thank you so much!


	47. New Year's Eve

****_ All was dark in the forest that evening; not even the moon was showing her face. As Hermione walked, the trees became larger, more gnarled. She was unsure where she was headed but as she went, a feeling of uneasiness settled into her stomach. _

_ Rising up into her path, the shadows from a collection of structures materialized like fay creatures, from thin air. She tried to slow her pace, but her feet no longer seemed to be under her own control. In moments, a circle of monolith stones opened before her in a clearing. _

_ She made her way into the center of the henge and waited – though she knew not for what... _

_ Above her, the stars began winking out one by one until the darkness was complete... _

_ Still she waited… _

.

.

In the end, Natalie insisted her daughter at least buy a new dress for the occasion. At first, Hermione had protested. She wanted to show to up to the appointed date and time wearing jeans and a jumper just to prove a point, but Mrs. Granger had given her such a stern lecturing over this obstinacy that she eventually yielded.

"No matter the reason for it, a girl's wedding day is special," Natalie insisted as she dragged her into one of London's many department stores.

The dress was nothing fancy. It was beige-colored – Hermione had staunchly opposed ivory – and made mostly of a silky material. It had a high bateau neckline and sleeves that went all the way down to her wrists, to cover her scars. It flared out slightly at her waist and went conservatively to her knees, a bit of black taffeta peeking out the bottom of the hemline. Otherwise, it was plain.

On the morning of December 31, 1998, Hermione slid the dress over her head and smoothed out the front. It was soft and smooth as water against her skin.

Scratching Crookshanks on his head to distract him from winding between her ankles and demanding attention, Hermione dug a pair of low, black heels from the back of her closet, which she had only ever worn to her grandfather's funeral two winters back. She thought of attempting to straighten her hair the way Lisa had showed her before Christmas break, but decided against it. Today, she preferred her curls.

As a finishing touch, she clasped the bracelet Harry and Ron had gifted her around her wrist. She may not have given her best friends the choice to be a part of this decision, but wearing their gift made her feel as if they were with her in spirit.

She slowly turned to face herself in the full-length mirror of her bedroom, unsure what she expected to see reflected there. Idly, she noted that her hands were shaking like a wildflower in a thunderstorm. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths and remembered Draco's calming words the day he had talked her through one of her panic attacks.

She could not register the vision that was herself in the mirror quite yet.

"You look beautiful," said a hushed voice from the doorway.

Natalie was standing in the hallway just outside her room and gazing at her, somewhat misty-eyed. Hermione went to her immediately and was pulled into a reassuring embrace. Mrs. Granger stroked her daughter's hair as she often had when she was a child.

"You can always back out, love."

"No, I have to do this. It's the best way to unbind us."

"Oh, love," Natalie sighed. Pushing her back to get another good look at her daughter, she scrutinized her a moment before suggesting, "I have a rope of pearls your father got me. I think it will be just the thing to go with your dress."

.

.

When all was said and done, Hermione was glad she had let her mother talk her into wearing something nice, because Draco had certainly dressed up for the occasion. He had on a traditional wizard's frock-coat with black velvet cuffs and a high-collared white shirt underneath. The coat flared out elegantly in a way that accentuated his slender, Seeker's body. Though she knew this was classic formal wizard's wear, Hermione thought he looked like a gentleman from a Regency-era film on BBC (Natalie loved watching these, something Todd teased her endlessly about). It was amazing how, even in a setting like an official Ministry room with very little to visually recommend it, Draco had a subtle aristocratic aura about him.

_ That will be the Malfoy part of him _ , Hermione privately noted. Normally, this would have at least hoisted a smile onto her face… but not today, when she would become officially and legally bound to that Malfoy part of him as much as the rest of him.

Not for the first time, she was struck by the difference in their upbringings. Here she was, wearing the faintest shadow of a wedding gown her mother had helped her pick out in Muggle London… and there was Draco, wearing a traditional set of tailored wizard's robes: something he would always have been expected to wear at his wedding.

She was sure they had both imagined this day to transpire quite a bit differently.

Hermione saw Draco before he noticed her arrival and was able to appraise him from afar; she had to admit he looked rather handsome today without his hair slicked back. The subtle restless movements of his hands indicated he wanted a cigarette, a sure sign that he was anxious.

Turning to mention this last part to her mother, Hermione paused when she discovered Natalie looking him up and down appreciatively.

_ Merlin, how embarrassing! _ She hoped Draco would not notice, as it would be sure to go straight to his head.

Once he took note of the Grangers' arrival, Draco's gaze locked onto Hermione and he eyed her in the same way she had done to him only moments before. When she came to a stop in front of him, he murmured, "I thought for sure that you were going to show up in jeans and a jumper."

"I wanted to," she admitted somewhat sheepishly. "My mother insisted I buy a proper dress."

"You look lovely in it."

She blushed, inwardly hating herself for it – she was marrying this man in a few short minutes, she should not be blushing like a schoolgirl when he told her she looked lovely...

Shortly, the official came to the small podium before them. She had dark skin like midnight and innumerable braids that were so long they ended at the backs of her knees and had to be contained with a purple scarf tied in an enormous ponytail. Her standard green robes emblazoned with a purple M, was the only real color in the stark Ministry room.

Craning her neck, Hermione glanced behind her and observed Narcissa sulking against the far wall and looking somewhat green in the face. Despite this, she had worn her own traditional witches' robes of the highest quality, and had even coiffed her flawless, blonde hair into an intricate updo for the occasion.

Todd – who still disapproved of his daughter's obstinacy in moving forward with what he considered to be a foolhardy decision – had worn his fourth-best slacks and a golfing shirt as a kind of silent, feeble protest against the whole arrangement and was looking surly. Natalie wore her best pantsuit and looked strained in her endeavor to be supportive of her daughter, while ignoring the sneers from Mrs. Malfoy on one side and the irritable muttering of her dour husband on the other.

"Your father didn't want to come," Hermione stated in an undertone to Draco. It was an observation, not a question. They both knew why.

"He remains on house arrest," he reminded her gently.

"They wouldn't let him leave, just for an hour, to see his only son married?"

With his face blank, Draco merely answered, "I don't believe he ever asked for permission to leave."

"Oh."

_ What to say to that?  _ she wondered.  _ At least my father made an attempt… but then, this isn't really marriage. This is a binding that will last a year and a day and then be considered successful if it terminates in divorce... _

A small, nervous voice from the back of her brain, parroted,  _ Divorce could be a non-option… _

"I'm not surprised," she told him frankly, "especially after I destroyed his document on Sunday… and it's no secret that both of your parents consider this day to be a blight on their family tree."

"I don't," he said quietly.

_ I love you. _ She wanted to blurt it out, but she just could not do it.

The official greeted them both and after asking if they were ready, she bid them step up to the podium before her. Hermione grabbed Draco's hand and offered him a tiny smile - for luck - which he actually returned. Together, they stepped forward. Her heart did a somersault, landing somewhere in her stomach.

Per their agreement, the official swore an oath of secrecy before she began. Then, "We present are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in binding matrimony…"

_ Oh no, oh no, oh no… _ She could feel a panic attack bubbling just below the surface. She couldn't have one  _ now _ , surely! She had known this was coming... mentally prepared herself for it. Her breathing had gone slightly shallow and she closed her eyes. Draco must have noticed this because he squeezed her hand and began drawing circles on her fingers with the pad of his thumb. With the constancy of this act, she remembered his soothing words and willed herself calm again.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, do you take this woman to be your wife? To commit to her the fidelity and loyalty of your body and your possessions? To honor her, to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as long as you both remain bound?"

Hermione opened her eyes and chanced a look up at him. They had talked this over – decided to go through with it for purely practical reasons – but she still felt her heart beat a little irregularly, her pulse quicken.

He looked mostly… mostly what?

Nervous?

Did Malfoys  _ do _ nervous?

His voice did not falter. "I do."

He slipped the simple wedding band onto her finger, where it sat heavily and seemed to weigh down her entire hand.

"Hermione Jean Granger, do you take this man to be your husband? To commit to him the fidelity and loyalty of your body and your possessions? To honor him, to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as long as you both remain bound?"

Draco was gazing at her steadily with those gray-blue eyes and she could almost read there:  _ I know this is sudden, and you're scared. Trust me. _

With a shaking hand, she slipped the second wedding band onto his finger. "I do."

"Then," the woman officiated, "I wish you enough sun to keep your attitudes bright, no matter how gray the day may appear. I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun all the more…" *

_ This is the blessing,  _ Hermione realized. She recognized the words from Bill and Fleur's wedding, but had never realized the enormity of their importance before.

"…I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest joys may appear larger. I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting. I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess, and I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirits alive and everlasting." *

The official waved her wand and for a moment, a whirlwind of small stars ensconced the bride and groom, magically binding them. Hermione could feel her skin prickling and tingling in a pleasant way and was reminded of the beautiful maelstrom of wind, water and ice that had got them into this mess in the first place.

"By the power granted to me by the Ministry for Magic of Wizarding Britain, I now pronounce you bonded in matrimony. You may kiss your bride."

Draco brushed an errant curl from her face and bent to claim his prize. Hermione could feel many things in his kiss: some of his emotions she recognized intimately because she felt them also, but there were a few that perplexed her, as she could not entirely distinguish them. Still more were a jumbled mess of a puzzle that perhaps had no discernable answer at all.

It was over too soon.

Somehow, she had been congratulated by the official, steered away from the podium, and was now standing in front of her parents once more, this time with Draco. How had she got there? She could not even remember moving her feet to cross the room.

"Tomorrow, Draco, if you're not busy, Todd and I would love to have you over for dinner," Natalie was offering with a somewhat forced smile. Todd was sulking behind her, making it plain that he would love no such thing. Narcissa was continuing to keep her distance; Hermione vaguely wondered if Draco had spoken to her beforehand.

"It would be my pleasure," he answered gratefully. Glancing over, Draco addressed her, "May I speak with you a moment?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione heard the words coming out of her mouth. She still felt as if she were in a fog.

He led her into the hallway beyond, which was empty. The rest of Britain was celebrating the end of the old year and the imminent coming of the new, with their loved ones.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh... yes."

He looked as if he did not believe her but was too polite to contradict. With an ironic half-smile, he observed, "Your mother invited me to your house tomorrow."

"Yes," she nodded. "She wants to get to know you better. She knows that I care about you."

_...That I love you. _ Hermione both hoped he understood and hoped he did not... because despite everything they had been through in the past four months, the fact remained that there were seven years of hostility preceding them… and he was a Malfoy: slippery and careful. She knew they would never have wed if there had not been extenuating circumstances. Telling him would have put too much on the line, too soon. She just could not say it… not yet.

"I care about you, too." He leaned down to kiss her cheek, "Now, wife, I think you should get home to rest. You look tired."

Hermione's heart did a flip. "I am tired. I didn't sleep a wink last night."

"Nor did I," he admitted.

"But I'll see you tomorrow?" she pressed.

"I will spend all day with you, if you choose."

She felt suddenly and inexplicably needy at parting from him, blurting out, "Will you come after breakfast?"

"After breakfast, then," he promised. "Your mother has given me your address."

"Maybe…” she paused, worrying her lip, “will you meet me, instead, at the old Boxgrove priory? It's near my house. We can have some time to ourselves first… if you want?"

As the words tumbled from her mouth, she felt transparent and exposed. Draco seemed outwardly to be casually observing her, but his eyes were full of understanding and… something. Relief?

"I will wait for you there all day."

Like their kiss, they parted too soon.

.

.

Because her arthritis was particularly bad that evening, Hermione retired to bed extremely early. Natalie brought her a glass of water and some Ibuprofen.

The silky, beige dress was hanging in the overflowing closet and the borrowed pearls had been returned. It was the same purple-and-white patchwork comforter on the same twin-size bed in the same childhood bedroom. In fact, Hermione might have felt no different at all, but for the thin wedding band now resting on her ring finger.

From her window, she could see the neighbors were having a New Years' party. Their home was full of boisterous guests waiting to ring in the new year with their friends and family.

"Are you feeling well, love?"

"Yes, Mum, just tired. I feel like a sponge that's been wrung out too many times."

Sitting on the corner of her daughter's bed, Natalie smoothed the comforter with her hand and quietly explained, "That's because you're in love, pet."

With a small laugh, Hermione joked, "If this is what love does to a person, it would be nice if it took a vacation and let me be for awhile."

"Oh, sweetheart," Natalie sighed, evidently seeing through the joke in an instant. "Love doesn't come because we invite it in, it happens because we surrender to it."

Though she had slept poorly the night before, Hermione did not get much sleep that night either; every time she tossed and turned, it felt as if she were resting on shattered glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... y'all didn't really want to WAIT to read about their wedding, right? May it disappoint many bleeding fangirl hearts (like mine) that want everything to be kneazle kittens, raunchy lemons, and confessions of undying love. Much, much love to Palmetto_Blue, who read this chapter over for me before posting. Also, to everyone who left comments - comments are 100% among my favorite things.
> 
> There are two * to denote the blessing I used for their marriage, which is actually a slightly tweaked version of a poem by Bob Perks.


	48. New Years' Day

****The moment mother and son arrived back at Malfoy Manor from the Ministry for Magic, Draco promptly announced, "I'll be taking supper in my rooms tonight."

"As you like," Narcissa coldly replied, disappearing in pursuit of a glass of wine without another word. Lucius was nowhere to be seen; Draco suspected he was nursing a double old-fashioned and filling his study with cigar smoke.

He climbed the staircase to the East Wing slowly, loosening his cravat from around his neck as he went and tossing the cloth over his shoulder before moving on to the buttons of his frock-coat. The fastenings were nearly all undone by the time he reached his suite, eager as he was to rid himself of his wedding robes. For an outfit he had worn for less than an hour, it had been ludicrously expensive, even by his standards.

It was strange, but undressing himself seemed wrong somehow; Draco wished it was Hermione's fingers undoing the buttons. He wondered: would they have kissed softly or snogged like it was the end of the world? With them, it seemed it was one extreme or the other.  

Hermione had been perfectly lovely in her fawn-colored silk dress, her curls boisterous as ever. While modest, the dress betrayed exactly what Draco had suspected since Halloween: her figure was out of this world… short but lithe, characterized by gentle curves. She had been stunning – truly stunning – but she always was, even in an oversized jumper with post-Potions hair…

 _Well_ , the rational part of his brain paused, _maybe not stunning with the post-Potions hair._ The thought made him smirk as he entered his private suite.

Deciding on a bath, he flung the cravat and frock-coat onto the back of a green satin couch in the spacious receiving room. A case of cigars left over from Theo's visit the previous day sat precariously on the edge of the end table, and Draco only narrowly missed upsetting the whole box when he carelessly added his waistcoat onto the pile.

Leaving a trail of dishabille in his wake, Draco entered the bathroom, flicked his wand at the tap and disrobed the rest of the way as the tub began filling up with water. Glancing down to his hand, he paused when he took note of the wedding band there.

It was a simple band - matched to the one that had been created according to Hermione’s wishes - but weighted with significance. He headed back into the bedchamber to leave it on the side table. Setting it down with a heavy _clunk_ , he stared at it for a moment before picking it back up and gently tucking it away in the bedside drawer. When the drawer shut, he sank onto the bed and smoothed his hand over the bedspread. It was the same bed he had slept in since the age of five, as tradition mandated that when a Malfoy heir reached that age, his permanent suite would be assembled for him… the rooms and furniture he would live in for the rest of his life. This same bed, which Draco had slept in as a boy and young adult, was the same enormous, gaudy thing he was expected to conceive his own heir in someday.

Following the blessing of a wizarding union, an additional blessing was often written into a Malfoy's marriage contract; this one was often aimed at the bed a man would take his new wife into. While Lucius had been agonizing over the marriage contract (which had been so unceremoniously destroyed by Hermione), he was sure to dismantle everything about this additional blessing, which both fulfilled and nullified itself once the quick conception of a healthy firstborn son was achieved.

 _We don't need that on top of everything else,_ Lucius had muttered under his breath after explaining why it was excluded on the final draft. _We will perform it when you wed your true wife._

The words haunted Draco more than he cared to admit: his true wife.

Which implied that Hermione was _not_ his true wife.

He knew this, of course – but it was another thing to hear it in words. The idea of divorcing her and going their separate ways caused him to feel ill. He tried to imagine being set loose into the wizarding world to go courting, but it only made him tired.

 _Be patient,_ his brain chided. A great surge of warmth eased Draco's bones as he slid into the steaming water of the tub; a hiss escaped his lips at the sudden but welcome change in body temperature.

His heart quietly answered, _Be patient, but until when?_

.

.

Though he felt like a fool for doing it, Draco left for the Boxgrove priory the moment the sun rose. It was as much to meet Hermione as it was to get out of the Manor – which was home, yes, but after a night riddled with nightmares it felt oppressive and dark, with memories of war in every corner.

The old Boxgrove priory was a ruin, only a stone's throw away from the intact parish church nearby. Draco explored it all, briefly walking through the graveyard beyond the modern church with its headstones almost as ancient as Malfoy Manor. Hermione had specified the old priory, however – it had once probably been a fine structure. Little remained of the roofless stone building now but the gable ends, which still stood stubbornly to their full height.

Though he had brought both Ravenclaw's and Slytherin's alchemy journals to keep him occupied as he sat and waited, Draco found it difficult to concentrate.

"I knew you'd be here at an ungodly hour, you nancy."

Draco's wand was out in a snap, a trigger that had taken hold during the war. He blew a great gust of air from his mouth in relief when he recognized the intruder, "Nott, you berk, I might have hexed you."

Theo grinned widely at him. His fair hair had been freshly shorn close to his head since Draco had last seen him two days ago. Draco knew that same look would be ridiculous on himself – one of the main features of a Malfoy was his hair.

"No need to hex me, a hello will suffice."

Scowling, Draco questioned, "What are you doing here?"

"Sparing you the agony of spending the next hour or two on your own in this gloomy old ruin like some dirty gypsy." Setting himself down on the stone wall of the north gable alongside Draco, Theodore pulled two cigars from inside his coat and cast his friend a devilish grin. "Your witch will be a bit longer yet… and before you protest, they're _cigars_ , not cigarettes."

Grateful for the company of a friend – especially if Hermione really was going to be a few more hours, as he had suspected – Draco made no argument. Theodore carefully cut the end off the first cigar and handed it over. Accepting the smoke gratefully, Draco thoroughly lit it, almost inhaling out of habit - stopping himself just in time.

After successfully getting his own cigar burning, Theo mentioned, "I've been to see Blaise."

"Oh?"

"The _signora_ is putting the pressure on him to get hitched after graduation."

Thinking of Blaise's proven tendency to pursue witches, only to drop them once they reciprocated interest, Draco sarcastically drawled, "Obviously _that's_ going to happen."

"Mind you, it _is_ one possible outcome…"

"You've looked?"

"You know me: I'm a nosy fucker. Almost as nosy as Zabini himself." Theo expelled a deep gust of cigar smoke into the crisp morning air. "He's got a few paths ahead of him with his future hanging on what he chooses to do."

Draco frowned, "If the future can be so vague, how were you so certain about mine?"

With a smug chuckle, Theo explained, "You and the People's Princess didn't have much choice in the matter because of that idiot alchemy experiment of yours. Logical people are always easier to predict. Not to mention, she's violently in love with you."

The offhanded comment that Hermione loved him – indeed, that she could bring herself to love someone like him – made Draco very uncomfortable.

It was not that he was unfamiliar with love per se. He supposed he loved his parents, as it was his duty to do so and they had always wanted what they imagined was the best for him, regardless of how flawed those wishes might be. He had endured excruciating torture for their sakes, and he knew he would do it again. But non-familial love? Draco had never experienced that before. It seemed too vulnerable, a risk to be avoided. He had been raised to believe it was far better to esteem a romantic partner than to be in love with her. It seemed a messy emotion, frenzied – like a water-logged man gasping for air after nearly drowning… all terribly inelegant. Yet, if Theo was to be believed… Hermione was already in uncharted territory, which he, Draco, would undoubtedly follow...

Unsure how to tell if a person might be in love, he could not discern if it was something that was going to happen to him in the future... or something that had already happened to him. He certainly had a hard time believing he could feel even _more_ miserable at times. Perhaps it was already too late for him.

Losing Hermione would be a seriously crushing blow, especially knowing how she cared for him. It did not take Theo telling him so for it to be obvious. It made her vulnerable (not that Draco planned on abusing or manipulating this fact), and he supposed there was a sort of purity to it. In himself, he viewed such vulnerability as a liability – but in her, it was more of a fundamental act of bravery.

Puffing away at his cigar for a few moments, he finally accused, "You told me yourself that you can't read minds or emotions. Just See events."

"True," Theo agreed, pausing a moment to blow a perfect smoke ring into the air. It was beginning to grow a bit warmer now, though the sky remained a dreary gray. "I Saw her admit it out loud, to her mother. This was only a few days ago."

Draco's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. It was right in the middle of a panic attack." Then, in a saucy, teasing voice, "Though I suppose anyone who realized their happiness depended on you probably _would_ have a nervous breakdown..."

"Let's not talk about it anymore," Draco intoned firmly. "You're a menace to personal privacy and it's none of yours or my business what Granger does with her feelings."

"Yeesh, relax, will you?"

Shame crept in at the way he had lost his temper. By way of explanation, he offered, "I haven't been sleeping."

Theo waved the as-good-as apology away. "Don't you want to know if the two of you last beyond the year?"

It was a question Draco had never voiced, largely because he did not want to ask and be judged for it, but also because he was not sure he wanted to know the answer. Nervously, he stalled by puffing away at his cigar. "Do I want to know?"

"There are two futures in front of you, and you'll honestly be fine no matter which one becomes reality," Theo assured him. "In one scenario, you both decide to divorce at the appointed time. You'll have a tough time of things for awhile but eventually marry Astoria Greengrass after a few years of wallowing. She's dutiful and compassionate and you quickly come to respect her. Being a good pair of Malfoys, you produce your heir together, and then she dies thirteen years later. You're a miserable, lonely bastard for awhile, but eventually develop a kind-of relationship with a pretty, young French thing – a half-blood, I think – and she will make you happy, though you never marry her because you're too worried she's only after your money and you want to be sure it all goes to your son…"

Draco grimaced. "That is... a rather unappealing series of events."

"But you're curious about the other?"

Irritably, he snapped, "Well, are you going to tell me or are we carrying on?"

"Touch-y."

He rolled his eyes dramatically.

"The other outcome, is that you and Hermione find another way of obtaining an answer about your situation and decide to remain married since you no longer need the divorce to fix your alchemy mistake."

Draco perked up. "There's another way out?"

"I couldn't begin to explain it if I wanted to. I'm rubbish at alchemy, as you know... and honestly, that seems like too much meddling, even for my _extremely_ low standards."

Silent for a moment while he digested what he was being told, Draco presently queried, "So… if we remain married, what happens?"

With an ironic smirk, Theo revealed, "You're married over ninety years and she gives you three kids."

 _Three kids?_ Draco's imagination conjured the image of Hermione with two small platinum-haired boys and a baby girl with a light dusting of hair of the same color and it actually hurt. _Over ninety years…_

He must have mused longer than he thought, because Theo's voice seemed almost muted and far-off when he next spoke up, "You're lucky, you know?"

Draco shook the light-headedness from the front of his brain, which was as much from his own mind as from the half-finished cigar. "Why?"

"To have Hermione. They don't make them all like her."

Attempting to disguise his private thoughts, Draco mustered a sense of false bravado and japed, "What's got you waxing poetic?"

Maintaining eye contact only with the ground, Theo merely shrugged.

"Are you still not going to tell me what it is you see about your own future?"

"No," he insisted quickly. Then, more gently, "Besides, your witch just started on her way here."

"Right _now_?" Draco demanded, running a hand through his hair apprehensively and nearly dropping the remainder of his cigar.

"Your hair looks fine, you berk – stop messing with it," Theo scolded. "Merlin's tits, I should have just let her surprise you."

Draco put out his cigar and vanished it before using a _Tergeo_ on his clothes to get the smell off himself. Theo paid this no mind, continuing to smoke.

Hermione did indeed arrive a few moments later, on foot. She was wearing her Ravenclaw scarf and a gray coat. Her hair was pulled back into an enormous firework of a ponytail. Her eyes were bright with the exercise of her walk, shining with a kind of hopefulness.

_You're married over ninety years and she gives you three kids._

For the first time, Draco did not know what to say to her. A mild panic began to set in. Luckily…

"Well, if it isn't the blushing bride!" Theo announced loudly, casting her a cheeky grin.

"Theodore? What are you doing here?"

"What sort of bullshit greeting is that?" he complained.

Disorientation still abundant, Draco turned to Hermione and apologized, "I didn't know he was coming either, Granger."

There was a beat of silence wherein a manic grin spread across Theo's face and he corrected, "Unless you somehow missed the last twenty-four hours of your life, Draco, she's _Malfoy_ now."

"Oh, no," Hermione protested even as her cheeks colored. "I'm keeping my maiden name. This is all a secret, you know. We have appearances to keep up."

"Appearances are for self-depreciating loons," Theo chided, taking a shallow puff of his cigar merely so it would not go out, "which is why I'm not surprised in the least that you're doing it."

"Rude, Theodore."

He parried with, "Don't act so surprised."

"Oh, I'm not," Hermione assured him with an impish smirk of her own. "I'm not even sure you know how to be polite."

"Polite?" he snorted, blowing some of his cigar smoke her way. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Oh, you know – so others think you're a good person."

"Do _you_ think I'm a good person?"

Draco interrupted with a drawling, "Nott, you wouldn't know good if it walked right up and smacked you in the tit."

"Ha!" Theo cried in glee at his friend's affirmation.

Wrinkling her nose somewhat, Hermione shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her coat and queried, "Have you two been smoking out here the whole morning?"

"Nah, I was just keeping Malfoy, here, company so he didn't look like some kind of rogue..."

"…And you were _just_ leaving," Draco finished for him, shooting him a pointed look.

"Alright, Romeo, relax. I can't Apparate safely with a lit cigar, can I?"

Despite his apparent laziness, Theo put out the cigar after one final puff and made ready to leave.

"It was nice to see you, Theodore," Hermione said with a smile.

"Stay in school, darling," he answered with a wink. There was a crack of Apparition, and he was gone.

The enormity of finally being alone with Hermione for the first time since their marriage hit Draco the moment Theo disappeared. He tried to think of what to say, but came up with nothing. _Nothing_. Usually there were so many somethings ricocheting around the landscape of his mind that it was more difficult to choose only one, than to scramble for anything at all.

A brief wind kicked up and blew at Hermione's hair, allowing some of the shorter strands toward the front of her face to spring loose of their constraint. She brushed them away with impatience. "I hope you haven't been waiting too long…"

His brain snapped back into place. Draco allowed a smirk to slide into place as he responded dramatically, "For _ages_."

Hermione's lips formed into a smile. She had beautiful, full lips… and Draco now wanted to make her smile for the rest of her life. Squirming at the thought, he subconsciously knew what it meant, but was unwilling to accept it. He hated feeling weak and vulnerable, and a part of him resented her for making him feel that way.

"How ever shall I make it up to you?" she lamented.

It was exactly the opening he needed to cross to where she stood inside the ruins and kiss her. She tasted like hazelnut coffee. Despite the difficulties before them and the obstacles to overcome, when Draco heard her little sigh of contentedness and felt her melt into him, all was right with the world.

.

.

They talked for hours, about everything. Around lunchtime, the lovers opted to begin the walk to the Grangers' house. Hermione took her time as she led Draco from the priory ruins and into the town of Chichester where she lived.

Draco was not nervous about meeting the Grangers again until the house finally came into view. Silently, he was impressed. It was much smaller than Malfoy Manor - most homes were - but it was clearly well cared-for… all the more impressive when one considered the lawns and landscaping were maintained without magic.

A car was parked in the driveway in front of a large garage and he inadvertently stopped to inspect it. He had seen cars before, of course, and knew they were used for transportation, but he had never actually touched one. He reached a hand out and brushed the side, grasping the handle of the door…

Mrs. Granger raised the kitchen window to poke her head outside. "Hermione, is that you? I thought I heard you."

"Coming, Mum.”. She took Draco's hand and pulled him after her into the sitting room.

There was almost too much to take in once they were inside. A brick fireplace was the centerpiece of the room, though it was not lighted as the weather was still mild. The mantle above was also made of brick and on it was an enormous Dutch clock. Framed photographs – none of them moving, which made Draco uncomfortable – lined the walls. A sectional sofa took up much of the far wall across from a wide box-like object with a screen, which was displaying the image of a woman chopping carrots and throwing them into a frying pan with some onion and garlic.

Draco tried not to look everywhere at once. Surely there was not actually a woman trapped inside that box? Yet, he could not conclude how Muggles could make her appear there otherwise, without magic.

A short hallway led from the sitting room and in it was an enormous aquarium full of salt water fish and brightly colored corals. On the walls were plaques honoring both of the Doctors Granger for their work in charity dentistry.

Hermione grabbed his hand again, snapping Draco from his observations, and lightly squeezed it. His face remained neutral, but secretly he liked it. She had no fear of him whatsoever – it was artless and gracious.

"Well, Hermione, I was just starting to get worried. You were gone a long while."

"Sorry, Mum. We walked around town a bit before we came."

From the kitchen doorway, Mrs. Granger aimed a remote at the box with the woman on the screen, and switched it off. The cooking woman disappeared, leading Draco to conclude that she certainly was not trapped inside the box in the sitting room, however the device might function.

"Draco, welcome to our home."

"Thank you," he answered, unsure what to do or say. In a wizarding setting, he might sometimes be expected to present his hostess with a token of appreciation for being invited into her home – at least that was what his parents had taught him – but he was not sure what was expected of him here… perhaps it would be too much.

Unused to feeling socially inept, it was almost a relief when a radio blared to life from an unknown room down the hallway: "I've got sun-shiiine… on a cloudy day…" *

"Doesn't Dad know we're here?" Hermione lowly asked her mother.

"…When it's cold out-siiiide," the singer crooned soulfully, "I've got the month of May…" *

Perhaps it really was in answer to her daughter when Natalie turned to Draco to explain, "This is one of my husband's favorite songs."

"I guess," the vocalist went on, "you'd sayyy… what can make me feeel this way? My girl – my girl – my girl!" *

"Dad!" Hermione yelled down the hallway.

Natalie explained, "When Hermione was a little girl, Todd used to dance her around the sitting room to this."

Draco suspected Todd Granger was playing this particular song on purpose, to prove a point. He had little doubt that Hermione privately agreed when she called again, " _Dad_!"

"…I don't need no moooneeey… fortune or fame. I've got allllll the riches, baby… one man can claim…" *

"Dad!" Hermione tried once more.

Mrs. Granger queried, "Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you," he accepted.

The kettle was put on, and Natalie had just made Draco and Hermione comfortable in the sitting room when finally – and thankfully – the band began to fade away into the end of the song. Seizing the opportunity to dispel some of the tangible awkwardness in the house, Natalie poked her head into the hallway and called down it, "Todd – come out to the sitting room. Hermione is back and Draco has arrived."

Though it took him longer than was strictly polite to leave his office, Mr. Granger eventually appeared in the sitting room, a small book tucked under his arm with several page-markers poking out, indicating it was oft-consulted. Draco was again struck by the youthfulness of the man's appearance; he might have been Hermione's older brother, if Draco had not known better.

Todd crossed the room and mussed Hermione's hair in greeting, "Have you been out all this morning, pumpkin?"

 _Pumpkin,_ Draco mentally repeated, somewhat bewildered by the fond moniker. _Well that's just adorable._

"Yes, Dad. Draco and I were spending some time together before we have to go back to school," she answered pointedly.

Remembering his manners, Draco acknowledged the man with a cursory, "Good afternoon, sir."

Todd eyed his houseguest critically. "Here for dinner, are you?"

Draco nodded.

"Hmm."

It was obvious Mr. Granger was not very fond of his new son-in-law. Todd set his book down on the coffee table and took a seat in the nearby armchair, his dark eyes observing the young man he clearly viewed as an intruder into his family.

In Draco's childhood, there had always been a thick layer of sureness that encased him. As a wizard, as a pureblood, as a Malfoy, he was triply special... or at least, so his father had led him to believe. Even in his childhood worlds of make-believe, where he was a brave warrior, a prince, a goblin hunter, a daring explorer, a fire-breathing dragon – he had been invincible.

Whispers followed his family wherever they went. Many were positive – some were not. The Dark Lord rose again, but Lucius had botched their family's claim to eminence. Bit by bit, Draco's sureness in himself, the invincibility that came along with being a member of the Malfoy family was siphoned away until he was utterly exposed. Now, having been lucky enough to temporarily secure a woman of superior qualities as his wife, he was facing the stains from his history in the unimpressed face of that woman's father. Invincible, indeed.

"Would you help me with supper, Hermione?" Natalie was asking.

"Sure, Mum."

Turning to her husband, Mrs. Granger suggested, "Since I'm going to borrow Hermione for a little, Todd, why don't you show Draco your motorbike collection?"

Hermione groaned, "They'll be in the garage all day…"

"Nonsense, dear," Natalie insisted, though she did not sound convinced of her own words.

The women disappeared into the kitchen. A palpably awkward silence stretched between Draco and Mr. Granger for a moment, wherein Todd seemed to be wondering if this would be the moment Draco would finally peel off his face and reveal the troll beneath.

Finally, the man gave in. With a huge sigh, he asked, "You ever see an actual Ducati Monster in person?"

"What's a Ducati Monster?" Draco queried apprehensively, wondering if he would need his wand.

"What's a…!" Todd stuttered, taken aback. "What's a _Ducati_?"

His son-in-law only blinked in confusion.

That was how Draco found himself in the Grangers' garage being given a disquisition on the subject of high-end street bikes. He had heard of motorcycles, but had never seen one in person. They were not at all what he expected somehow.

"This is one of the first Ducati Monster 900s ever made. There were only twenty made the first time they were released in '93. This is one of the second batch," Todd explained reverently, running his hand across the gleaming red paint of the motorbike's pristine body in a manner like a man might do to his lover.

In a moment of understanding, Draco realized Todd had done to the motorbike what Hermione mentally did to the books when she visited the library.

"...I paid a pretty penny for it, I can tell you that much."

Draco cocked his head to the side, taking in the details of the machine. "What's it for?"

"Fun, mostly."

"And… Muggles also use this for transportation?"

"This, here, is more for pleasure riding. Ducati is a well-known, very highly sought-after Italian company that produces motorbikes. The Monster is a popular model, known for being quick."

"Like racing brooms," he inferred, inspecting the foreign-looking gears with a new kind of interest.

It was Todd's turn to be perplexed. "Er, sure."

"I have a Nimbus 2001," Draco explained. "It's been the second-best broom on the market for the past five years – besides the Firebolt. Most broom producers have tried to outdo the Firebolt, but no one seems to be able to. There's a huge waitlist to get one."

"Must be a small market to not have produced anything better in five whole years," Mr. Granger deduced, looking interested despite himself.

"Well, there's a lot that goes into a good racing broom. The Firebolt is supposed to be able to fly as high as the stratosphere, though most wizards never find out unless they've also cast charms to allow them extra oxygen that high up. My father purchased my Nimbus for me when I made my House's Quidditch team. That was the year before the Firebolt came out."

Todd Granger had never heard his daughter speak about sports of any kind in the wizarding world; then again, she had always been more interested in acquiring knowledge than getting muddied up by sport. "What's Quidditch?"

"What's Quidditch?" Draco's eyes immediately brightened as he started into an explanation about the game – played on broomsticks in teams of seven – and methods of scoring. As he launched into a description of the use of the different balls, he found he was enjoying himself; Todd was intrigued, if somewhat skeptical.

"So there are two that actually try to unseat you?"

"Bludgers," Draco confirmed. "Nasty things. I got knocked off my broom by one in second year and was flung almost thirty feet through the air before I hit the ground…"

"I always forget you lot insist on not using metric," Todd sighed, shaking his head. "Tell me about the different positions."

This propelled Draco into a new discourse about the three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper and one Seeker. He explained, "I was Slytherin's Seeker. My job was to catch the Golden Snitch, to earn my team 150 points. The capture of the Snitch by either team's Seeker ends the game."

"I imagine that can often take some time." The motorbikes were momentarily forgotten. "Didn't you say that one was about the size of a walnut?"

"The longest game on record lasted about three months. They kept having to bring in reserve players."

Todd let out a low whistle, "And here I thought cricket sometimes went on for a long time…"

Draco looked confused, "What's cricket?"

Todd was then obliged to launch into an equally confusing dissertation on the game of cricket while Draco tried to keep up. Recalling that it was a difficult game to learn the ins and outs of, if there was not an actual game for reference, he deflected, "…But there are far too many intricacies to explain them all to you now."

Looking thoughtful, Draco slowly admitted, "I think I'd like to watch a game of cricket."

Todd perked up, "Really? Neither Natalie nor Hermione are big on sports, so I never buy tickets. In fact, I think the closest Hermione ever came to doing anything sportsmanlike was the time she was enrolled in girls' field hockey in primary school… she's always preferred her books though."

"I could see that," he smirked.

"Would you like to take a ride on the Monster with me?" Todd offered. He was appearing far more charitable toward his daughter's new husband now that he had a conversation with him.

Dubiously, he eyed the gleaming machine in front of him. "Is it safe?"

Todd tossed him a helmet. "You wear that to protect your head, just in case. I've got a spare jacket you can wear, too."

This did not assuage any of Draco's fears, but he took the proffered helmet nonetheless and fit it on over his head. The leather jacket fit well, as both men seemed to be of a similar build. Todd wheeled the Ducati into the driveway and donned his own helmet.

"That fit alright?" he queried, nodding to the helmet on Draco's head.

"Seems to."

"Can you fit two fingers under the chinstrap?" Once they were all set, Todd instructed, "Alright, I'll drive. You hop on behind me. See, there are foot pegs for you here, so make sure you've got a good grip on them. Now, hold on tight."

"Is it fast, or…?" Draco began, but his sentence was cut off by the sudden roar of the engine and without any further warning, they were jetting forward out of the Grangers' driveway and down the street.

Draco got his answer anyway: the Ducati _was_ fast. Todd clearly knew his way around on a bike because he swerved through the town with expert ease; soon enough, they had left the outskirts of Chichester behind and were cruising down a straightaway, accelerating to the sorts of speeds Draco was used to going on his Nimbus. It was cold from the crisp January air, but wonderful.

They had begun to loop back around to town when Todd slowed and pulled off to the side of the road where there was a small parking area. Beyond the small section of gravel was an outcropping of trees surrounding an idyllic pool of water, fed by a series of small falls; the edges were fringed in ice.

Taking the hint, Draco dismounted, pulling the helmet off. While he could see why the headgear was necessary, he did not much care for it; it left pieces of his hair sticking in sweaty tendrils to his forehead, despite the season.

Pulling off his own helmet, Todd gestured to the landmark and explained, "This is where I taught Hermione to swim as a kid. She always loved coming here."

The way the man gestured as he forayed into a not-so-subtle conversation was just as Hermione did. Despite resembling Natalie more in stature and build, many of Hermione's personality traits seemed to come from her father – especially Gryffindor ones.

"So," Todd continued, a new sort of gleam in his eye, "now that we are away from the women… what are your intentions toward my daughter?"

Draco stood up a bit straighter, recognizing that this was an important conversation.

"I realize this conversation should have occurred _before_ you married her," the man continued, "but I suppose it's better late than never."

It was with no small amount of struggling that he managed to reply, "Hermione is… well, she's just… she's different from any other witch I've ever known."

Todd was nonplussed. "My daughter is very headstrong and independent. She's also prone to taking extreme measures to achieve an end. When your War broke out, she pulled an Agent 007 on her own parents and sent us to Australia, allowing us to think we were entirely different people, without any children."

"She told me," Draco answered moderately, hoping he was correctly guessing what a 007 was.

"After things were safe again, she restored our memories but the whole thing left a funny taste in my mouth." Observing Draco carefully, Todd pushed, "I understand your folks were some of those she was so actively warring against, though she insists you had as minimal a share in their crimes as was possible."

Draco was silent.

"So, for one year my daughter – a girl you bullied all the years you've known her – is to be your wife. Tell me, what does that mean to you?"

"I intend to treat her with the respect she deserves, if that's what you're asking. In any case, she would never stand for anything else."

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I may not be magical and my daughter may be grown, but she remains under my protection…"

"Of course…"

"…And I don't think I've made any secret of the fact that I utterly detest the reasons Hermione chose to marry you, of all people."

Draco quietly admitted, "For what it's worth, I hate the reasons too."

"Hmm. Well you don't seem as bad as I initially feared – but I'll be keeping an eye on you. Two, when I can spare them."

"Yes, sir."

Satisfied, Todd jerked his head back toward the motorbike, "You ready to head back? Whatever my wife was really about back at the house, I'm sure we have dinner waiting for us."

It was not a conversation he had ever wished to have, but there was a sense of relief that it had occurred nonetheless. As Draco set the helmet back on his head, he reflected that this was the first time he had ever taken a Muggle seriously – and he had no doubt Todd Granger meant every word he had said.

.

.

"There you are!" Natalie exclaimed once the Ducati was stored properly in the garage. "Supper is ready."

"Excellent," Todd effused, perking up immediately. Turning to Draco, he queried, "So what did you think?"

Helmet tucked under his arm, Draco swept his hair from his face. "It's fantastic – almost as good as a broomstick."

With a hearty laugh, Mr. Granger clapped him on the back. "You can place the helmet over on that table with mine; I'll want to let them air out before storing them again…"

Hermione popped in through the garage door at that moment, looking apprehensive. At hearing her father's laugh and seeing Draco's small smile, she visibly relaxed. He wondered if she had been worrying over him the entire time he had spent with her father and the motorbike; the idea was oddly comforting.

Todd was unzipping his riding jacket as he followed his wife into the house.

Alone once more, Draco's eyes flickered to Hermione, but instead of meeting his gaze, he was intrigued to notice she was eyeing him thoroughly. Crossing the garage toward her, her eyes snapped up to his at last.

Lasciviously, he bent down to her ear and whispered, "Did I just catch you checking me out?"

To his delight, her face grew red despite the insistence, "Like I really am going to pander to your already enormous ego."

"You _were_." His fingers twisted up into one of her curls, pulling it down, then releasing it to spring back up. "Ten points to Ravenclaw."

She shoved him playfully, "It's the leather jacket – it has nothing to do with you."

Pulling her in toward himself so that their bodies were touching, he pressed, "So what you're saying is that you like looking at me in leather."

"You're a git, Draco."

"That is quite rude, and in no way answers my question."

"Why do you always have to be such a...?"

She was abruptly cut off when he leaned down to chastely touch her lips with his. Her cheeks were still pink when he pulled back and began to regretfully shuck off the leather jacket. "Come on, we don't want your parents to come looking for us."

.

.

Dinner went well – and was delicious – much to Draco's relief.

Not long into the meal, Todd had asked his daughter, "How is it you never told me about Quidditch, Hermione?"

Seeming surprised herself, she mildly answered, "I suppose it just never came up."

"The wizarding sport?" Natalie queried.

With an air of long-suffering, Todd beseeched his daughter, "How does _she_ know about it?"

"Nonsense, dear, you remember that pen friend from Bulgaria Hermione had all those years – wasn't Viktor a Quidditch player?"

"Krum?" Draco blurted out, surprised.

"Yes," Hermione answered unabashedly. "Viktor and I wrote for years, though I haven't seen or spoken to him since Bill and Fleur's wedding… and you're right, Mum, he did play Quidditch."

After he acquired several good bits of blackmail from Natalie's memories of Hermione's childhood, he was questioned about himself. If there was one thing Draco was good at, it was talking about himself – only nowadays, he hated doing it.

"Hermione was so disappointed at first about not being sorted back into Gryffindor," Natalie was saying, "but it's only half a year left. I understand you were sorted into Ravenclaw this year for the first time, as well?"

"I was. I was a Slytherin before that."

"How are you liking it?"

Much of the conversation went on like this, wherein Natalie plied him with questions without making it seem like an interrogation. Draco suspected the woman would have been a Ravenclaw, herself, had she been magical (Todd was a classic Gryffindor).

After dessert, Draco professed that he would be expected at home soon, and thanked the Grangers for their hospitality.

"Well, I'm glad you could join us," Natalie answered. "I feel somewhat better about this whole situation, now that I know a little more about you."

After saying good-night, Hermione accompanied Draco onto the back porch and murmured, "Thank you for putting up with my parents today. My mum asked a lot of questions."

"It was nothing – nice, actually. Especially when you consider what we're going to have to go back to tomorrow."

"Oh, right." She paused and thoughtfully chewed the inside of her cheek, "I'd forgotten. I'm thankful we got to spend some time together before we have to go back – it would have been terribly awkward if we'd met on the Hogwarts Express for the first since getting married, don't you think?"

"Incomparably," he agreed. "I couldn't do this." He kissed her, softly again. "Who knows when we could do that next?"

"Monday prefect patrols, I expect," she answered without missing a beat.

There was an accompanying gleam in her eyes that certainly captured Draco's attention at her words. "Looking forward to it."

Reaching up onto her toes to kiss him a last time, she murmured, "See you tomorrow."

He Disapparated with a crack.

.

.

Back at Malfoy Manor, Draco stepped down into the foyer of his home, absentmindedly brushing a ginger cat hair from the front of his clothes.

"Where have you been all day, Draco?"

He looked up to find his mother descending the elaborate marble staircase that led from the East Wing. Fixing her with a firm look, he answered, "To see Hermione. I had dinner with the Grangers."

Her expression immediately soured. "Why?"

Fearless conviction bubbled up in his chest, which was not something Draco could ever remember feeling before. He felt alive, animated… almost like there was a bright flame inside him, but one that delighted in fanciful rapture rather than the familiar fires of rage. He could have laughed in his mother's face if he dared, as he remarked, "Remember a few years ago when you told me to be fearless in the pursuit of whatever set my soul on fire?"

All traces of color drained from Narcissa's face.

"That," he said simply, stalking past her up the staircase without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments! I appreciate you so much. Also, a ginormous bin full of kudos to you, if you noticed that Hermione did indeed have something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue on her wedding day in the last chapter. I like to hide things in the story sometimes because I think I'm clever or some crap.
> 
> There were a few * marks, to denote places where I quoted the song "My Girl" by The Temptations.
> 
> Thank you to I_was_BOTWP, who reigned in my ramblings by helping me delete a couple hundred units of word-fluff... no small task, trust me. You're superwoman - I'm so lucky to have you as my beta!


	49. Secrets

**** "Have a good last term, honey."

"I will, Mum," Hermione promised, kissing both her mother's cheeks.

"And _ stay out of trouble _ ."

"I'll do my best, Dad."

"Hmm," Todd murmured, unconvinced.

Steering her cart toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Hermione casually leaned against the brick of the archway and waved farewell to her parents. A crowd of boisterous teenagers passed by, cloaking her departure from the Muggle world. After depositing her trunk in the designated area on the platform, she lifted Crookshanks' carrier and craned her neck over the throng to look for… well, she  _ told _ herself she was looking for Harry, Ginny or Ron, but she was also hoping for a glimpse of Draco...

"Hermione!" a familiar voice shouted over the noise of tearful goodbyes, hooting owls, and the exploding of some filibuster fireworks that had been improperly stored in a fourth-year's trunk.

Spotting the landmark of Weasley hair making its way toward her, Hermione cried, "Ginny!"

As the two witches embraced, Hermione noted a new gleam of mischief in her friend's eye. "Harry's already nabbed us a compartment. Come on..."

As she was pulled along, Hermione swept a final glance over the crowded platform but saw no sign of any Malfoys whatsoever. With a twinge of disappointment, she followed Ginny toward the back of the train where Harry was already sitting in the very last car and catching up with Neville and Luna.

"Hey, Hermione," her best friend greeted. He wore a new, carefree sort of grin that Hermione was unused to seeing on him. Being Harry had always come with a multitude of stressors; perhaps his newfound buoyancy was merely how he would always have been, if Harry had not been The Boy Who Lived. He clapped a hand on her shoulder cheerfully. "Have a nice holiday?"

"Pretty quiet, actually," she lied. "Hello, Neville, Luna... where's Ron got off to?"

Luna put in seriously, "I hope he hasn't been duped by dabberblimps. They're especially active at this time of year."

No one asked.

Ginny snorted, "Probably glued to the face of one Daphne Greengrass."

"She seems nice," Harry mused, happily settling into his seat beside his girlfriend.

"She is," Hermione affirmed quickly, taking a seat beside Neville.

Ginny added, "She visited us at the Burrow after Christmas. Mum wanted to meet her. For someone willing to date Ron, she's pretty alright."

"Wasn't she a Slytherin?" Neville wanted to know curiously.

"She's a Ravenclaw now, though," Hermione defended quickly. "She's my friend."

Neville laughed. "Don't worry, Hermione, I think we're all past the point of judging a person based on the old House prejudices. Look at Harry and Ginny. Look at Dean. I would be silly to dislike Slytherins. Besides, I've got Theo Nott in my dorm now and he's one of the old snakes. He isn't so bad... just a kind of a loner…"

Ron caught up with his friends later, after the train had already departed for Hogwarts. The satisfied, somewhat smug expression he wore seemed to confirm Ginny's earlier assertion about his whereabouts, though he did not bring it up. After greeting the entire compartment, Ron settled into his usual place beside Harry and exulted, "Six more months before graduation... and then we'll be starting our Auror training!"

Hermione's stomach lurched as she recalled Draco pointing out how awkward it would be to try explaining to a potential employer that she was married, but only for another six months. The Auror office at the Ministry, in particular, might have some less-than-charitable opinions regarding her new spouse. Feeling her face flush with the knowledge that she was keeping some extremely important news from her friends (news they had every right to be privy to, considering what they had all been through together), she was momentarily overwhelmed by a wave of remorse. Bending to lift the latch of Crookshanks' carrier and give him free roam of the compartment, Hermione took a moment to smother her guilty conscience.

"Just think," he waxed on, "the three of us up against the world... just like it's always been…"

She supposed she could not ask for a better opening than that. Clearing her throat, Hermione contradicted, "Actually, I was planning to travel for a few months after graduation."

Ron gaped. "But you'll be behind us in training school!"

"I'd like to see the world before jumping right into the workforce, that's all. What better time to do it?"

Somewhat suspicious, Harry queried, "Why the sudden change in plans?"

She shrugged, "Think of it as continuing my education. I just... decided there's still a lot more I want to learn about the world, that's all. The Ministry can wait a bit longer."

Convinced by her pragmatic response, Neville commended, "Wow, Hermione, that's a great idea. Think of all the interesting things you'll get to see."

_ Yes _ , Hermione, she inwardly berated herself,  _ think of all the interesting things you get to do because you let your curiosity get the better of you. _

Sensing her desire to change the subject, Ginny cast Hermione a searching glance, then distracted the compartment with, "I've been dying for a game of Exploding Snap. Who's in?"

.

.

"Welcome back, students," Headmistress McGonagall called over the many heads of her charges. As always when she spoke, the Great Hall quieted immediately. "On behalf of all the staff here at Hogwarts, we hope you have all had a restful holiday. I have only one announcement before we begin the feast…

"As many of you know, we are experiencing a somewhat unusual year in accommodating many students who should have graduated last May, but due to recent wartime circumstances have returned to Hogwarts for an eighth year. As such, both Ernie Macmillan and Padma Patil have been your Head Boy and Girl for the first term of school – and they shall, at this time, hand that mantle over to two of those in seventh year: Aidan Quinlan and Morag Francis."

There was a round of applause accompanied by a lone catcall from the Gryffindor table when Aidan and Morag stood. Morag – a very pretty former-Ravenclaw girl, who was now Slytherin – was particularly popular. Aidan was Hufflepuff, but Hermione thought she recognized him from being amongst the former lions of Ginny's year.

As most students had opted to sit at their proper House tables for the feast, Hermione's eyes flicked automatically to Padma, who sat across from her. Sue, Lisa and Daphne all did the same.

"It's only fair, when you think about it," Padma reasoned to her friends as the applause began to die down. "Ernie and I were lucky to get a chance at being head of anything at all. Aidan and Morag should have had it all year."

"Without further ado," McGonagall finished up, "tuck in."

The feast was excellent, as always. Hermione helped herself to pumpkin juice and a generous portion of vegetable pot pie as the girls filled one another in on their holiday breaks.

"What did you do, Hermione? Anything fun?" Lisa asked happily once she had finished relating a tale about snowshoeing in Norway with her brother and sister-in-law.

"Nothing much. I went to Christmas dinner at the Weasleys' house. That's always nice."

_ Oh, and I got married to Draco Malfoy. _

"My parents took us to visit my great auntie in Ireland," Sue explained with a shudder. "It was horrifying as always… she likes to collect porcelain dolls. Everywhere you look, they're staring at you..."

Once the conversation had safely moved on from herself, Hermione chanced another look around the crowded hall, specifically roaming along the benches of the Ravenclaw table. She spotted Draco sitting with Zabini toward the very end. He looked much the same as he usually did, though perhaps as if he had been sleeping a little better lately. Hermione wondered when she would next get an opportunity to be alone with him.

Soon enough, when the last plates had been cleaned of the last remnants of delicious dessert pies and tarts, the benches began to scrape backward as the students sought their beds. Hermione was getting ready to head up to Ravenclaw Tower with her friends, when McGonagall's voiced called over the heads of the students, "Miss Granger! Mr. Malfoy!"

_ McGonagall wanted to see her? But why? _

All four of her dorm-mates looked at her expectantly, but she shook her head to indicate her ignorance.

"We'll meet you up in the tower," Padma decided, glancing from Hermione to the head of pale blond hair that was now making its way toward the headmistress.

The girls took off without another word, though Daphne scrutinized her almost until the moment she disappeared into the corridor beyond the Great Hall.

Wondering what on earth she and Malfoy were meant to have done, having only been back at school for a couple of hours, Hermione's eyes sought Draco amongst the throng of students, but her gaze first landed upon Ginny. She shot Hermione a questioning look, dark eyes darting from her to McGonagall, and raising an eyebrow of speculation. Hermione shrugged, hoping to impart that she was just as clueless in this matter as she. It was not long before Ginny was siphoned from the Great Hall with the other Slytherins.

She made her way to the front of the cavernous room, where Draco had already answered the headmistress' summons. By this time, the rest of the hall was almost empty, even of the other teachers. When Hermione approached, she glanced at her professor with questions in her eyes, but Minerva only instructed, "Follow me, please, both of you."

Leading them out a side entrance, Hermione chanced a look at Draco. Catching his attention, her eyes darted to McGonagall's back, then back to himself. He seemed just as uncertain as she was, though his gray eyes were dark with misgivings.

As the three zigzagged through the corridors, Hermione felt a sinking sensation in her gut as she began to suspect,  _ She knows… somehow... _

They passed a group of Hufflepuffs going in the opposite direction toward their common room. Several of the badgers who were not too sleepy to pay attention, were eyeing Draco, Hermione, and McGonagall with curiosity. Hermione was grateful Ron was not among them.

As they approached the staircase to the second floor, the three were alone once more. Hermione plucked up her courage and asked, "Professor… where are you taking us?"

"Miss Gr…" McGonagall began as they alighted the steps, then paused with a strange look on her face before correcting herself, "Mrs. Malfoy... I assure you I am not here to punish."

Hermione's face reddened at the use of her married name and she noticed Draco's cheeks had become pink as well. Somehow she had just known McGonagall knew!

Draco spoke up angrily, "We swore that official to secrecy. How is it you know?"

"A notice is automatically sent from the Ministry to Hogwarts when two of its students marry, regardless of their age." They began up another set of steps toward the third floor and as they waited for the staircase to rearrange itself, McGonagall regarded the pair of them. "The official did not inform on you, the record-keepers merely did their job. As there has not been a married couple attending Hogwarts since 1908, I'm not surprised you were unaware of that particular by-law."

Draco's face had flushed with color and he looked incensed - or perhaps like he was ready to sue someone at the Ministry. Hermione walked a bit further away from him. Quickly, she repeated, "But, professor, I still don't understand where you're taking us."

The headmistress came to a stop in front of an ugly stone gargoyle in the middle of the winding third floor corridor. The entire hall was lined with similar statues, all with different features and expressions on their stone faces. This one grinned cunningly through a smile of blunt teeth. A pair of small, stubby horns sat on its head and it had a bulbous nose. Directly across the hall was the unmarked door where Hermione recalled she, Harry, and Ron had accidentally stumbled upon Fluffy guarding the trapdoor in their first year.

McGonagall turned to the gargoyle and addressed him, "Allow us entry, please."

Springing to life, the gargoyle reared its ugly head and the entire pedestal scraped to the side to reveal a modest opening.

"Come along," McGonagall bid, sweeping inside ahead of her students.

The room inside was wide and circular, made of stone and nearly unremarkable. There was a tapestry with the Hogwarts crest hanging on the wall, as well as several neutral paintings: a medieval monk tended his garden in one, a wire-haired dog chewed on a bone in another. A painting taller even than Draco hung by the doorway they had just entered through, and pictured a knight riding a horse. For a horrible moment, Hermione thought she recognized Sir Cadogan, but was relieved to discover she had been mistaken. The knight was simply a knight.

"I have brought you here," Minerva finally explained, "to offer you what Hogwarts has traditionally done for students who marry before leaving school. This small suite - and several others like it - was built in the 1600s for students in your… situation."

"But there's nothing about it in  _ Hogwarts: A History _ !" Hermione protested.

"A wonderful resource, but not a full compendium, to be sure."

There was a welcoming fire crackling in a good-sized hearth. In front of it was a large, silver-and-black braided rug. Two semi-full shelves of books stood on either end of the fireplace, and – Hermione noted – contained many books she often looked checked out from the library, as well as several she did not recognize. A handsome leather sofa and matching armchair with ottoman were arranged in front of the hearth, while a small wooden table stood by a double window, upon which was a vase full of fresh lavender sprigs. Four practical wooden chairs sat around the table. There were two other doors within the suite that led elsewhere.

"I'll be perfectly frank: the two of you are the very  _ last _ students I would ever have expected to take on the challenges of matrimony, even despite your circumstances," McGonagall freely admitted. "However, I think I understand your reasons, and while sound, I hope you both understand what a large commitment it is you've agreed to."

"Please, professor," Hermione pleaded, "we had not intended on living together like this."

"It  _ is _ a nice suite…" Draco began, eyeing the place with growing approval. Upon seeing the expression on Hermione's face however, he added, "But we did agree that we wanted to keep our union a secret from the students and staff."

"You will understand I cannot have the two of you sneaking into one another's dormitories, however such things might be condoned by the marriage state."

Hermione had not thought it possible to become so red in the face, but she could feel even her neck and chest flushing crimson. She hastily insisted, "It's not that kind of marriage."

"Hmm... well, I have not yet shared your news with the staff," McGonagall assured them. "If you choose it, I will refrain from doing so."

"Yes, please," she quickly answered.

Under his breath, Draco muttered something about too many people already knowing about it in the first place. McGonagall either did not hear, or chose to ignore him.

"I would also like to remind you both that you are to behave appropriately on your prefect patrols. I had half a mind to revoke that honor and bestow it on Mr. Macmillan and Miss Patil instead - to be sure you don't become distracted from doing further research about your unbinding…"

"I assure you, headmistress," Draco drawled before Hermione could interrupt, "as it is in our mutual best interests to discover the quickest way out of this accident, we are both fully aware what is required of our efforts."

Hermione nodded vigorously, "Draco is right – we still plan to research this situation extensively. Getting married was only a way to speed up the process of unbinding ourselves should the rest of our research prove fruitless. Moving out of our dormitories would only make others wonder."

"I understand, Miss Granger. Your classmates need not know about your change in situation unless you inform them yourselves. You may both continue to reside in Ravenclaw Tower, though I shall leave these rooms open for your use all the same. At the very least, you may use this area as a private space to keep your alchemy-related research and materials while you work on them."

“That’s… a good idea,” Hermione admitted, and even Draco nodded.

"Take a moment to look about yourselves... and when you are done, return directly to Ravenclaw Tower." McGonagall made ready to leave but paused halfway out the door, her hand on the archway as she surveyed her two students from above the wire rim of her square spectacles. "On the other hand, if at any time the both of you… change your mind… about your circumstances… I would prefer you use this suite, which has been cleaned and outfitted for your use. Good night, Miss Granger… Mr. Malfoy."

The stone gargoyle could be heard sliding into place behind her, signaling her departure.

Silence stretched between them a moment. Finally Draco broke it with a low drawl, " _ That _ was awkward."

Hermione giggled, as much from the truth of his statement as from her utterly fried nerves.

"Shall we take a look about?" he suggested.

"I never knew these were here," she answered in guarded agreement. Though she had wondered when they would be alone again as recently as dinnertime, now that the moment was come, she was unsure what to say to her husband.

There were two doors leading from the small circular room besides the one they had entered through. Choosing first the one on the left, Hermione grasped the wrought iron handle and lifted the latch, pushing the heavy door inward. Inside was a smallish bathroom, functional in appearance more than anything, but with an oddly out-of-place jacuzzi tub carved from an enormous slab of black marble. The shower-head that fed into it from above was made of the same utilitarian materials as the rest of the room, which made it likely that the bath had been installed in a time pre-dating showers. The shower-head seemed to have been added later, when the number of students marrying whilst still at school was already declining.

"Hmm," Draco remarked. The tilt of his pale eyebrow revealed he was less impressed with the washroom than he had been with the main living area.

After a moment of looking about, Hermione closed the door behind them and cast an uneasy glance at the door on the right as Draco lifted the latch and pushed inward, disappearing inside and leaving her awkwardly lingering behind.

She knew the room must be a bedroom.

A single bedroom.

For them to share because they were married.

The truth was, despite her earlier protestation to McGonagall that they did not have "that kind of marriage", Hermione was hyper-aware of the fact that her relationship with Draco was by far the most visceral she had ever had with a man. Had she not become as intimately acquainted with the most private parts of his body as he had with hers? Theirs was a strange sort of understanding of one another, alternating between an intensely physical chemistry… and sometimes barely knowing what to say to one another when their personalities clashed or their life experiences were at extreme odds. She was in love with Draco Malfoy, yes... but was hesitant to tell him so because she could not begin to guess what sort of reply to expect from such a declaration. She loved him, but he also frightened her. He was her husband by law... but what was he to her,  _ really _ ?

Hermione followed the enigma in question into the room beyond. It was indeed a bedchamber.

The inside was furnished very simply with a four-poster bed twice the breadth of the twin-size versions in the regular dormitories. The sheets were the same sky-blue color as the Ravenclaw ones, with the same sweeping hangings like bits of sky made into swags of crushed velvet. A tall high boy dresser stood on clawed feet in the corner beside a matching writing desk facing the only window: a tall opening more like a wide, defensive crenel than anything.

"It's small," Draco complained brattily.

"What did you expect, a grand suite?"

He merely shrugged, his eyes lingering on her suggestively, "It's private, at least."

"Mm," she agreed noncommittally, sensing the direction of his thoughts. A panic alarm sounded in her head, "We should get up to the tower. The others will start to wonder where we've gone."

If he was reluctant to leave, Draco did not show it. He only politely answered, "After you."

The young couple contained their conversation to neutral topics as they left their small suite behind and began the climb toward Ravenclaw Tower. Deciding to unify under the story that the headmistress had taken them aside to discuss their working together harmoniously on their Alchemy project, Hermione was satisfied the explanation was genuine enough. As Draco pointed out, no one who knew their history would question it.

The familiar eagle-head guardian greeted them with, "If I have it, I don't share it. If I share it, I don't have it."

"A secret," they answered directly, in unison.

With a last glance at one another – in which Hermione was suddenly regretful she had not taken the opportunity of being alone with Draco to snog him – he disappeared into the common room. He headed directly toward the boys' dormitory staircase with barely a backward glance, bidding only a monotone, "Good night."

"Good night," she repeated softly at his retreating form. When he disappeared, she could almost feel a bit of her heart going with him. Hermione knew they had both agreed to keep their blossoming relationship a secret, but the reality of Draco fluctuating from the sweet young man who had softly kissed her goodbye after having dinner with her parents... to a chip of ice, private and shuttered... caused her chest to ache fiercely.

None of her friends were asleep when she ascended into her own dormitory. Sue was grilling Daphne about her visit with Ron's parents, but stopped a moment when Hermione entered.

"What did McGonagall want?" Lisa was curious.

"Just reminding me and Malfoy to be civil to one another during our Alchemy project… and on prefect patrols."

"Oh."

Deciding the explanation was uninteresting enough, Sue continued scrupulously questioning Daphne while Hermione readied for bed. As she dug through the trunk at the foot of her four-poster for her pajamas, Hermione's fingers closed around a pair of socks with something small and hard inside of it. Curiosity piqued, she unearthed the unknown thing to reveal the small vial of truth-compelling powder she had stolen from her very first visit to Rowena's study with Draco. The vial contained a good bit of the innocent-looking silvery substance, almost like fine-grain glitter.

As she looked at it, a tiny spark of a thought ignited in the back of her mind. Dressing for bed, connections and calculations began to pour into her thoughts, leaving her no spare room to listen to the gossiping of her dorm-mates. Luckily, the Ravenclaws were tired from traveling all day and did not stay up much longer. As the girls drifted off to sleep one by one, Hermione continued to lay awake, her mind racing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am basically a cad and don't respond to everyone who comments, but I 100% do appreciate and read all of them! Thank you so much to everyone who left their thoughts... I'm absolutely convinced I have the best readers on AO3.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	50. Debussy & Gargoyles

****It was Sunday, and the library was packed with last-minute students cramming some extra research into papers and projects that had been assigned before break. A large group of fifth years consisting mostly of Ravenclaws had pushed several of the tables together to quiz one another on an O.W.L. preparation paper for Transfiguration. Madam Pince was telling off a second year who had tried to return a book with a more dog-eared appearance than it had left in. The Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain, Megan Jones, was consulting a sports volume whilst poring over some charts that looked as if they contained defensive strategies.

Hermione sat with Theo near one of the tall windows that faced the Quidditch Pitch. Outside, several figures in green robes could be seen zooming about, despite that the weather was beyond inclement.

"There's a whole lot of _fuck that_ outside," Theo commented as his gaze was also caught by the Slytherins' practice.

A crack of thunder pierced the deepening snow flurries, punctuating his comment. Hermione nodded absentmindedly, "Yes. I'm not sure why Harry decided he needed to call a practice in this weather on the day after we return to school, of all things."

Her companion tipped back in his chair as he balanced a long-feathered quill above his upper lip  like a moustache. "I guess once you've done in an unbalanced motherfucker like Lord What's-His-Face, riding a broomstick through the sky during some thunder snow is nothing, really."

"You have a way with words, Theodore," she told him with an amused glimmer in her eye before returning to the large book in front of her.

"What are you swotting over now?"

It was a mark of how accustomed Hermione had become to Theo's way of talking that she recognized the friendly jibe for what it was, rather than taking offense. She frowned critically for a moment, "Do you remember what Professor Slughorn told us about the difference between serums and poisons?"

"Can you be a bit more specific?"

"Golpalott's Third Law states that the antidote for a blended poison cannot be created by mixing together the antidotes to each separate poison…"

It was not for nothing that Theo had been accepted into Alchemy class; his Potions proficiency was extremely good. He recalled, "Right, you've got to find the ingredient that will transform the antidotes into a combined whole and counteract the entire thing."

"Well, building on that," she continued, "Golpalott's Second Law defines an antidote as a responder to the presence of a substance that the body deems harmful. Meanwhile, the Fourth Law defines a serum as a substance that stimulates an immune system response…"

"Is there a point to this, or should I just assume you're planning on poisoning Draco already?"

"He and I are supposed to be a secret," she reminded him tersely.

"You watched me cast a _Muffliato_ mere minutes ago…"

"Still be careful, for Agrippa's sake! The spell doesn’t stop people reading lips…”

“Hermione, _relax_!”

“...And no, I'm not planning on poisoning him, for your information. I'm just wondering: if an antidote can be made using a single ingredient for a blended poison, can the same be done for a serum?"

He looked thoughtful a moment. "I don't see why not."

_…And if I could find a way to counteract Veritaserum and the truth-compelling powder using the same ingredient, why couldn't I find a way to chemically reverse the effects of water and air elements in an alchemical setting?_

It was a long shot, but she hoped there was a chance for it.

Early that morning Hermione had dug out the Muggle chemist's receipt from her order of sulfuric acid and mercury, confirming what she thought she remembered: the sulfuric acid she and Draco had used in the mandala had been originally made when the chemist combined powdered sulfur and peroxide, using electrolysis. At its base, the sulfur was a powder, while the mercury was a liquid. Likewise, the same could be said of the truth-compelling powder and Veritaserum.

"And do you remember what McGonagall taught us in Alchemy about solids, liquids, and gases?"

"No, and if you're going to get geek all over the place, I'm leaving," Theo insisted, propping his feet up on the library table and not appearing at all like he was getting ready to move away.

A particularly loud boom of thunder made Hermione jump; she hoped Harry and Ginny were okay on the Quidditch Pitch. "Well either way, get your dirty shoes off the table, you animal."

"As you wish, Granger," he quipped, with a beatific smile. Removing his feet from the table as requested, he gazed at her for several long moments before opting to work on the Charms paper he had put off until the last minute.

.

.

For how much had been uprooted and transplanted in Hermione's life, the routine at Hogwarts was remarkably unchanged. Monday morning began with Transfiguration with the Slytherins and she soon found herself attempting to help Harry with his nonverbal spellwork.

"Concentrate, Harry," she chided.

Her friend's face was turning red with effort and his eyes were screwed shut behind his glasses. "I _am_ concentrating!"

"Yes, but you also need to _focus…_ "

"Aren't those the same thing?" he demanded irritably.

"Not necessarily," she sighed, moving to correct the positioning of his wand. "Like this…"

Afterward, she and Harry met Ron on the staircases, and the Golden Trio trundled down to the greenhouses for Herbology.

"Greenhouse seven today!" Professor Sprout called over the heads of her students. The professor’s hands were wrapped in cloth bandages and when she gestured for the students to follow her, her robe slipped back, revealing that the bandages disappeared up towards the elbow of at least that arm. This did not bode well for their lesson.

They spent a double-block trying to prune back some Shrieking Hemlock bushes, which screamed loudly to incapacitate any who approached, lashing out with prickly vines that left stinging welts on their would-be gardeners. Afterward, the friends retreated back to the castle, nursing their wounds.

"Why would anyone want those?" Ron hotly demanded several times, sucking on his burning fingers. "Bloody things are a _menace_!"

"The dried leaves are useful in potion-making," Hermione pointed out, though she would happily have done without the welts rising on each of her knuckles as well.

Harry's silence affirmed that he agreed with Ron.

Once they reached the Great Hall, Harry separated off to join Ginny, while Ron sought out Daphne. Hermione craned her neck over the swelling mass of black Hogwarts robes and noted Padma, Lisa and Sue chatting at the Ravenclaw table.

"Hey, Hermione," Lisa greeted affably at her approach.

"Padma was just saying something interesting about you," Sue said by way of greeting. "Care to repeat, Pads?"

"How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that?" Padma sighed. The former Head Girl was idly twirling her fork and as her gaze shifted to Hermione, she slyly mentioned, "I saw you in Diagon Alley the Sunday before Christmas, Hermione. You were with _a guy_."

Lisa giggled.

Sue unabashedly interrogated, "Who's the mystery man, Hermione?"

_My husband, as it happens,_ Hermione mentally answered. Selecting some cold chicken salad for lunch, she could not bring herself to meet her friends' eyes, when she deflected, "Just a friend."

"Who was he?" Sue now demanded of Padma, realizing she was not getting an immediate answer from Hermione.

"I didn't see his face."

"Really, girls," Hermione laughed, relieved, "it was just a friend."

Disappointed, Sue leaned in toward the other three to conspiratorially whisper, "You know who _I'd_ like to get friendly with? Blaise Zabini."

Lisa squealed. Hermione breathed easy once more.

"I mean, have you seen that wizard? Flawless… and those cheekbones, that jawline you could cut a diamond on…"

Hermione rolled her eyes, smirking quietly.

.

.

After spending all of Monday of pretending to be utterly indifferent toward Draco, Hermione grew antsy the closer she got to prefect patrols. He must have felt similarly, as they both showed up in the common room before their appointed time.

"A bit early," he observed, an amused smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Nevertheless... shall we?"

It was not until they were both descending the stairs from Ravenclaw Tower that Hermione felt him relax. The world outside was dark due to winter's early sunset, but the torchlight that lit the spiraling staircase threw interesting shadows on the stone walls, occasionally shining onto the stained glass of the windows and throwing fractals of dark color onto the steps.

"It's like nothing's changed," Hermione observed to him as they spilled out onto the fifth floor corridor, "but of course, everything has."

"Is this the part where your Gryffindor impetuosity throws caution into the wind and we start snogging in the middle of the hallway?"

Surprised, she turned to him. "Draco Malfoy making a joke? I'm impressed. Will you be performing circus acrobatics next or have you had enough of miraculous achievement for the evening?"

"Miraculous achievement," he repeated, not at all put out. "I'm going to remember you said that, you termagant."

"As you say," she allowed, feeling a shiver run down the length of her spine just the same.

They began patrol by peeking into the music classroom along the fifth floor corridor. Here, Hermione noticed someone had left the lid of the fortepiano ajar.

"Just a moment," she bid, entering the empty room. She passed the rows of music stands and wooden stools toward the instrument in question. As she moved to shut the lid, her hand brushed one of the ivory keys and a single note softly permeated the room.

"Do you play?" She had not realized Draco had followed her.

"Not since I was a little girl." When he sat at the tall bench before the grand instrument, the thought occurred, "Do you?"

His digits reached out over the keys and Hermione recalled her observations about those long fingers: that they looked specifically as if they were made to play the piano. Flexing them a moment, he made contact with the instrument and began a dolorous melody.

Sitting beside him on the bench, it was fascinating to watch him create music. Though she did not recognize the song, it bespoke an ever-present darkness, the sounds of twilight. The fortepiano – chiefly different from modern Muggle keyboards in that the hammers were covered in leather rather than felt – was less powerful than a modern piano, softer. Its muted sound lent itself well to Draco's purposeful euphony.

Tentatively, she reached out for the ivories on the left-hand side and twiddled out one of the only tunes her fingers could recall: the main theme of _Claire de Lune_. * While Draco seemed to be favoring minor chords, Hermione purposely selected something lighter... the stars to his darkness. There were times when their notes clashed, but it was only to be expected when the two players were of such different minds.

Sensing the imminent end of his song, she twiddled out an impromptu finale of her own.

Afterward, his eyes still affixed to the fortepiano, Draco queried, "What was that song?"

" _Claire de Lune_ , or at least what I remember of it. I'm sure it was not very faithful to the original at all…"

"You play well," he commented.

"Not well," she insisted. "Passably, at best."

"Alright, you play passably."

She shoved his arm playfully.

"My mother wished me to learn when I was a boy," he explained. "Father did not much care for me to know an instrument."

Hermione absorbed this rare peek into Draco's childhood. "That's silly. You play so well."

"Not so well. Passably, at best," he teased.

She smiled at him and their eyes locked. The torchlight threw the azure tinge to his otherwise grey depths into greater relief and her gaze slowly drifted to his proud mouth with the divot in the top of the upper lip. She wanted to kiss him, but a voice in the back of her mind pushed her to be patient.

They had been sitting at the instrument for some time before Draco determined, "We should continue our patrol. We've lingered too long."

"You're right," she agreed, standing from the bench and shutting the top of the instrument with a snap.

The remainder of Monday's rounds were conducted without incident, culminating in the usual way with kicking Pansy Parkinson and her current lover out of the caves that populated the Potions hallway.

“Why do you still come here?” Hermione demanded of her classmate. “You know you’re going to get caught.”

Instead of responding, Pansy only glared at Hermione and stuck her nose into the air before marching out of the caves with her knickers balled up in her fist. Hermione huffed a bit as the former-Slytherin disappeared in the direction of the Hufflepuff dormitories, but otherwise said nothing to Draco about the incident.

As the twosome began their trek back up the many staircases toward Ravenclaw Tower, Draco paused at the third-floor landing. "Do you want to check out our rooms a bit further? We never got much of a chance to look around before."

She regarded him archly, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Is that code for something else?"

"Possibly."

With an air of superiority, she jibed, "That was probably the least subtle thing you've ever done."

"Not true," he contradicted. "The least subtle thing I've ever done was to make all those 'Potter Stinks' badges in fourth year."

"Those were dreadful," she affirmed with mock gravity, restraining a giggle escaping at the recollection. At the time, the gesture had been rude and hurtful, but was now a distant memory. When had that happened?

It did not take them long to make their way to the correct corridor. Stopping part-way down, Draco queried, "Do you remember which gargoyle is ours?"

"It's that one," Hermione pointed, instantly recognizing it as being across the hall from the ill-fated room that had once held Fluffy the Three-Headed Dog. Her heart hammered in her chest as they approached, her legs somewhat jelly-like. Coming to a stop, she wondered, "How do you think we get in?"

"Oh, it's you two, is it?"

Jumping in surprise, Hermione noted Draco reaching for his wand beside her.

"Relax," the gargoyle commanded with an air of severe sarcasm, "it's only me, your humble guardian."

"It talks," Draco observed flatly.

"Of course I talk, you blond prat," it sniffed hurtfully. "Did you think I was just another statue, deaf and dumb to the world?"

Eyeing the gargoyle apprehensively, Hermione politely asked it, "We're quite sorry for the mistake. Can you tell us how we get inside, please?"

"You neglected to set a password two nights ago," it informed them, "and as you haven't been back since, I suppose you can make one now."

Hermione turned her eyes to Draco, "What do you think?"

Considering for a moment, he suggested, "Wit beyond measure?"

She shook her head. "Too obvious."

He shrugged. "I figured it was something Ravenclaw and therefore neutral."

"Hmm…"

"Oh, hurry up," the gargoyle demanded.

"How about eagle's nest," she propounded.

"Yes, good, good," the gargoyle snapped. "Eagle's nest, it is."

The stone pedestal slid to the side, allowing the young couple to head into their personal quarters. Sensing their approach, the fireplace sprang to life. Other than the crackling and spitting of the bone-dry logs in the grate, there was silence.

"It's cozy here," Hermione murmured, "and very peaceful at night, it seems."

She turned to say more, but discovered Draco had moved into place behind her to encircle her with his arms. "You realize, of course, that you just termed this place a nest?"

"Oh." It had _not_ occurred to her.

He smiled slyly as if reading her mind, and his head dipped down to press his lips against the corner of her mouth. Within seconds, she felt her arms snaking around his neck of their own free will, while he began peppering maddening kisses along the seam of her mouth, swiping his tongue across her lips and parting them for his entry.

_Yes, yes, yes!_ her brain screamed. It seemed to her that she had waited far too long to be once again in his arms.

Hermione responded to him readily, deepening their kiss like one desperate to quench their desire. With the same wild sort of joy, Draco's tongue claimed her mouth. His fingers reached up to cup her face whilst hers slid across his shirt and pressed against his chest needfully. Like a trigger waiting to sprung, his wandering hands reached for her uniform top and tugged it free from where it had been tucked into her skirt, rolling the fabric upward and lifting it over her head.

Despite the warmth from the fire and the heat that was flooding her veins, a ripple of gooseflesh raised along Hermione's arms. Draco broke them apart for a moment to divest himself of his own uniform shirt as well before maneuvering them both toward the sofa. As he did so, he pressed kisses against her ear, moving down her throat and gently biting against her pulse so that she shuddered – hard – and melted into him, her cold fingers grazing the warmth of his bare skin. Without even realizing she had done it, she turned her neck to give him full access to it, her fingers tangling in his hair and scraping his scalp as he nibbled again.

Gripping her hips tightly Draco smoothed his hand down her hip, around the curve of her buttocks, down her leg, and gripping her under her knee, pulled her leg up and wrapped it around his thigh as they sank onto the couch. Thus arranged, his wandering hands travelled up the soft flesh of her side, up her stomach and across the fabric of her brassiere.

Her eyes flew open to observe that he was watching her now. The question was clear in his eyes: was this okay? Too much?

She nodded encouragingly and a spark ignited in the depths of Draco's gray-blue eyes. Hooking his fingers under the strap of her bra, he slid it down her shoulder, then the second, and her breasts sprang free.

He breathed in, then pushed a gust of air outward. Against her leg, Hermione could feel the hardening of his swiftly growing erection and was flooded with a sense of satisfaction that she could elicit such an honest reaction from him.

"You have… the prettiest breasts, Hermione."

She was spared responding when he captured her mouth again. She was intrigued to note that his fingers trembled somewhat as they cupped the full weight of her left breast and kneaded her. When he latched onto the sweet spot on her neck again, an uninhibited moan escaped Hermione's lips; she felt a spike of panic at being caught for a moment, but recalled where they were, and remembering their privacy, relaxed once more.

She gasped as his mouth captured her pert nipple - softly, as if still unsure what amount of physical contact was welcome, despite everything they had done together - and Hermione could do nothing but allow her animalistic instincts to take over. Her hand traveled down his bare ribcage and grabbed his buttocks through his uniform pants. She pushed him in toward her while simultaneously wrapping her legs around his thighs and grinding inward.

His mouth detached from her aching nipple to moan, "Gods…"

Her mind fuzzy with lust, Hermione lost herself in the feel, the scent, the taste, the touch of her wizard. One of his hands reached to unwrap her legs from around him while the other pinched her right nipple between his fingers, rolling it hard as he nipped at her left. She heard the _tnk-_ ing sound of an unbuckled belt hitting the floor, and then he was kissing her body again so that things like words and breathing became distant memories.

"Let me bring you," he requested, his cheeks pink from exertion. He licked at her nipple again with a wide stroke and she shivered against him.

"Whatever you want," she breathed. "Just don't stop."

With a low growl at her blanket invitation, Draco kissed a swift line from her bra, still clasped where it was pushed below her breasts, down her belly, and stopped at the hemline of her box-pleat skirt. His eyes were darkened with passion as he nonchalantly flipped what remained of her uniform upward to reveal her plain, white knickers.

_I should really get some more interesting underthings_ , the thought occurred to Hermione for the first time. It had never been an issue before.

Sliding his thumbs under the hem of her panties, Draco slid them down her legs, exposing her quim to him for only the second time. Nudging a finger between her slit, he swiped from top of bottom of it and breathed out, "You're so wet."

He reached up toward her face again, capturing her mouth with a searing kiss. At the same time, his hand reached down and his fingers found the tiny nub of flesh above her vulva and teased it.

"Is that all for _me_?" he queried, and Hermione could feel his smirk against her lips, even as she squirmed.

She only whimpered.

"Say it," he demanded. "Say it's for me."

"Yes," she whispered. "It's for you."

Satisfied, he slipped a finger partway into her while the others rubbed at her entrance, coating it in her juices. She groaned with abandon, loving it.

"Now," she murmured, struggling to compose herself as she unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down, only to grab a handful of his fully erect penis. "Tell me that this is for me."

"You know it's for you," he whispered tremulously.

The feeling of flinging herself off a precipice without regard for what lay beneath engulfed Hermione's entire being as she came hard on Draco's fingers. Panting as she settled back down to earth, she realized her hand was still pumping at his cock.

"That was hot," he announced frankly.

She giggled, detaching her sweaty skin from the clinging leather of the couch. "Shall I return the favor?"

"Er," he mumbled awkwardly, "no need."

Her eyes dropped to observe that he had already released. She raised a querying eyebrow to search his face.

"I was a bit overexcited," he admitted sheepishly, reaching for his wand to clean his uniform. " _Scourgify_."

The deeper her smug smirk grew, the larger his scowl. She began to redress herself, while neither spoke a word.

"I _know_ ," he finally snapped. "Not my best performance. It's been awhile."

"Not _that_ long," she teased.

He growled.

After a fashion, she coaxed him into quietude again by leaning possessively against him in post-orgasmic bliss. He must have sensed her contentment, for Draco soon settled down himself, enjoying the feel of sharing one another's warmth.

"Can I ask you something?" she queried, some time later.

“Of course.”

“What are we?”

"We?" he repeated sinuously.

"Yes." It was all Hermione could do not to go weak at the knees when he said it. "What am I to you?"

Slowly, Draco blinked as he regarded her in a calculating manner. "You're my wife. Don't you remember?"

"I know that," she insisted. "I meant… this. You and I, _we…_ we go from one extreme to the other… being intimate, to acting as if we don't even know one another…"

"That was the agreement," he reminded her, "that our marriage remains a secret."

This conversation was not going at all how she had intended. With a frustrated little sigh, she muttered, "Nevermind…"

"Hermione," he interrupted, taking her hand and sitting up on the low couch at the center of the room. In a voice dark with purpose, he commanded, "Tell me what you’re thinking."

The leather of the sofa was sticking to the backs of her knees again where her uniform skirt rode up slightly as she sat. She adjusted herself so that she settled more toward the front to somewhat prevent this, but it only made her proper posture feel awkward next to how easily Draco lounged into the couch. Uncomfortable, she protested, "It's nothing."

"I may never have been married to anyone before you, but even I know that when a woman says 'it's nothing', it really is something. We've been married less than a week – I don’t wish to start it off like this."

Twisting her hands in her lap a moment, she admitted, "It's just that I'm a bit uncomfortable with how much we seem to fluctuate. Am I…" she paused to suck in a breath, "am I just a convenient piece of arse to you, when you want it?"

If it were not for how important the conversation was, she would have found Draco's reaction comical. His lips separated and eyes widened to give him a slack-jawed appearance. Slowly, he reached a hand up and ran it through his platinum hair, ending with scratching the back of his neck with it.

"Sweet Circe," she whispered, horrified. He looked so awkward after her question, that it must be true!

She turned from him and made to stand but he grabbed her arm. She glared at where he restrained her with a deep frown and, sensing his faux pas, he released her at once. "Sorry. Don't go. I just… you caught me off guard with that."

Eyes narrowed, she sank back onto the couch - but further away - and waited.

"Merlin," he breathed. "Is that what you really think?"

Sensibly she responded, "I don't know what to think. Just when we begin to get intimate, you back off and it's like there's an entire iceberg rising out of an ocean between us."

"I'm…" he struggled, "I'm not good with words. I told you that, months ago."

"Try," she entreated imperiously.

He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. From there, his muffled words answered, "It goes against my nature to be frank about how I feel."

She waited.

Looking up from his hands, he told her, "I don't make speeches, Hermione, it just isn't my way. But…" He seemed genuinely to be struggling and Hermione thought it was one of the most fascinating things she had ever witnessed: watching Draco Malfoy try to unravel himself enough to display one of the most basic human emotions. "…I am not the sort of wizard to proceed with a woman I did not have honorable intentions toward."

"Honorable intentions," she repeated slowly.

"I haven't forgotten your condition," he reminded her, "from that night on the balcony."

Hermione, too, could recall his promise with startling clarity: _I will treat you with the utmost respect, even if it means abstaining from some of the more fun marital activities because you aren't ready…_

A voice of her own – one that seemed to come from deep within her core – protested, _But I was foolish then! I didn't want him like I do now… I'm ready._

_I'm ready…_

...When had she become ready?

_Perhaps it's time to send a follow up inquiry to the Upadhyaya sisters_ , she decided. _If it’s for reasons other than just breaking the mandala's blessing, then maybe sex wouldn't be such a non-option, after all…_

While her blood did not exactly freeze as it used to at the thought, she still shivered. "I just can't stand going from what we are now – like this – to perfect strangers during the day. It seems unnatural and my brain can't reconcile which is reality and which isn’t."

In such a frame of mind, Hermione locked eyes with Draco, diving willingly again into silvery-blue like the surface of water. He asked, "Which is it that you want to be a reality?"

Fixing him with a frank look that belied more assuredness than she really felt, she countered with, "Why is it that you're the one asking all the open-ended questions here?"

He leaned in once to peck her lips.

She demanded, "Do you just kiss me to shut me up?"

"Perhaps it was an answer."

Hermione melted all over again.

A subtle softness in his gaze, he proposed, "Shall we head back to the tower?"

"Do we have to?"

He elicited a low laugh, "For the sake of appearances, yes."

"I know you're right, but I still consider it a bunch of baloney… do you think we can compromise?"

"How do you suggest we go about that?"

"Well," she explained slowly as she thought it over, "we agreed not to be a couple in the public eye, sure... but that doesn't mean we can't be friendly, right?"

"You don't think that would be a bit suspect?"

Sticking her nose in the air, she retorted, "I'm through caring what other people think of who I choose to be friends with, as it happens."

"Or more than friends," he pointed out.

She faltered. While it was not difficult to imagine being openly friendly with Draco in the same way that she was with Theo or Daphne, she was not sure she was ready for the public fallout that would inevitably occur if word got out that they were in a relationship. The media would explode overnight and that was no exaggeration; she still got at least two requests for interviews a week, despite how many she had already turned down. Harry got them daily.

Also to be considered, was the potential social repercussions when they divorced...

_Maybe we don't have to,_ she considered, thinking again of writing to the Indian alchemists.

_Patience_ , her inner voice chided. _One thing at a time._

"You want to be friends?" he repeated, eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared into his hairline.

"At least publicly," she pressed eagerly. "Then we don't have to pretend to be so cold toward one another all the time. Besides, it wouldn't be so strange. I'm friends with Theo and Daphne, you know. What's one more Slytherin?"

"Careful, or the entirety of Hogwarts is going to think you're collecting a harem of snakes," he japed. "Who's next, Parkinson?"

"No," she answered flatly.

He chuckled a bit at that. "So, what does one have to do to be friends with the great Hermione Granger?"

"Oh, I'm sure you can figure it out," she teased him, standing to make her way toward the exit. "There had to have been _some_ reason you were re-sorted into Ravenclaw…"

"Minx," he muttered, looking elated.

Leaving behind their little suite, the duo ascended three more flights of stairs before coming to a stop at the landing of Ravenclaw Tower. The eagle head door-knocker met them with a new riddle this time: "You only have me once you've given me."

"Gratitude," Hermione tried.

The guardian shook its bronze head, "Perhaps not."

She frowned. She did not usually get the riddles wrong…

"Respect," Draco answered.

"An astute conclusion," the guardian complimented, swinging the door open widely to admit them.

The common room was mostly empty when they entered. Hermione was glad of it, because Draco's lips were red and she could not seem to wipe the silly grin from her face... their secret, surely, was written all over both of their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 50 already? How did that happen? Firstly, I want to thank all of my readers and commenters for sticking it out this long... you are to be commended, and I appreciate you more than I can say. Have a high-five and a cookie, you deserve it.
> 
> Secondly, there was a * in this chapter, which references the third movement of Suite bergamasque, written by Claude Debussy.
> 
> Thirdly, there was also a bit about creating sulfuric acid from powdered sulfur. Now before you say, "Wait, Aspen, using electrolysis on powdered sulfur is not a very practical method of creating mass amounts of consumer-grade sulfuric acid," let me tell you, "I KNOW! But it's COOL and otherwise there's a semi-serious plot hole, so bear with me!" (If you're intrigued, check out NurdRage on YouTube, it's one of my favorite channels and they have lots of interesting videos).
> 
> Lastly, I want to thank my beta, I_was_BOTWP, for making time to look over this chapter for me. This story is better for your involvement, and I'm running out of creative imagery to tell you how much I appreciate you.


	51. Liminal Familiarity

**** Having stayed behind after Arithmancy with questions for Professor Vector, Hermione and Padma descended for lunch later than most of their peers. Still shuffling through several pages of notes as they walked, Padma lamented for the fifth time, "I'll never understand what possessed me to sign up for this N.E.W.T."

"You'll be fine," Hermione repeated loyally.

"It's just going to be so  _ difficult… _ all those formulas to memorize…"

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But it sounds like Professor Vector is mostly planning to review for the next few months."

Padma did appear a touch relieved at this reminder, but added, "My mother took Arithmancy; she said it was the most difficult exam she sat for."

"At least you can talk about things like that with her. The closest thing my Mum ever did was take advanced maths." With this admission, Hermione felt a twinge of anxiety for her approaching N.E.W.T.s – still five and a half months away – but resolved on making herself a study schedule later that week.

"I'm just glad you're in this with me," Padma sighed. "Hopefully we can compare notes?"

"Of course," Hermione acquiesced gladly. "Though, you know, there are only five of us sitting the exam – we could probably make a study group with all of us."

With some hesitation, the former-Head Girl admitted, "I don't mind Susan and Terry, but I'm not sure how I feel around Malfoy."

"Nonsense, Draco's an intelligent wizard."

Padma stared at her companion for a moment. "He gives me a creepy feeling."

"You sound like Lisa."

With no small amount of curiosity, Padma queried, "What do you and he talk about on prefect patrols? Has he ever brought up what he did during sixth year?"

"No," Hermione answered firmly. "We don't really talk about it."

"What  _ do _ you talk about? I just can't imagine making small talk with a former Death Eater… not to mention one that let other Death Eaters into Hogwarts…"

Rude retorts and defensive comebacks charged mercilessly into the forefront of her mind, but Hermione bit them back; she knew this was the established opinion of the general Hogwarts population with regard to Draco. Padma was only voicing what many of the others did not dare say out loud. While Hermione recognized how protective she had become of Draco, she also understood that it was not really Padma's fault she had those opinions. After all, Draco  _ had _ done terrible things…

She settled on, "I don't hold him accountable for what he did during the war. He tried to do what he thought was necessary to protect his family. We all did things we weren't proud of."

"Even you?"

"Even me," she confirmed, as a myriad of memories from the previous year flooded her mind.

Padma shook her head, her dark eyes veiling her emotions. "I'm glad you're a Ravenclaw this year, Hermione. But to me, you'll always be a Gryffindor."

Smiling - even if it was somewhat forced - Hermione answered, "Thank you."

Having finally come upon the Great Hall, Padma broke away to sit with her sister and a few other of the new Gryffindors. Hermione had no wish to join them; her relationship with Parvati remained apathetic at best.

Scanning the boisterous hall for a friendly face, her gaze first fell on Harry and Ginny. The two had their heads together at the Slytherin table in a way that bespoke of quiet intimacy. Further down the table, Lisa was laughing with Susan Bones at something Justin Finch-Fletchley had said.

The entire Hufflepuff Quidditch team was seated together - and if the animated hand motions a few of the members were making were any indicator, they all appeared to be discussing the upcoming Slytherin-Ravenclaw match. Ron was amongst them, banging his fist on the table for emphasis as he made a point about something or other. Glancing to the Ravenclaw table, Hermione noted Sue was sitting with her Quidditch team as well, though the members of this group seemed less animated than the Hufflepuffs as they pored over a chart which their Captain, Damien Shafiq, had presented to the others.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione noted Luna sitting alone at the end, and almost made to sit with her until she recalled their awkward evening spent in Rowena's private study when Luna had come across the book about sex rituals.

_ Perhaps not yet,  _ she decided. She liked Luna of course, but she was anticipating a myriad of awkward follow-up questions.

Neville was further along the table being spoon-fed some soup by Hannah, who was doing a poor job of it due to an excess of giggling. In fact, Hermione almost gave up finding a friend to sit with until she at last noticed who was sitting at the very end of the table: Daphne, with Theo and Draco.

_ Perfect _ , she decided. After all, if she and Draco were going to make a go of being friends in public, she might not get a better opening…

Set in her conviction, she shouldered her bookbag where it had started to slide down her arm and marched toward the far end of the Gryffindor table. As she slid onto the bench beside Daphne and across from Draco, Theo greeted, "Well, well,  _ well _ ! Look who decided to grace us with her presence."

"Hello, Theodore."

Beside her, the statuesque Ravenclaw welcomed, "Hi, Hermione."

"Hey, Daphne." She settled her overflowing bag onto the floor by her feet and began pulling her wild curls back into a ponytail.

Quietly, she heard, "Granger."

Looking up, she met Draco's eyes; the previous evening waltzed through her mind. "Malfoy…"

Theo wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at their exchange. It was a mercy Daphne did not see.

Adroitly recognizing the tenuous social implications of war heroine Hermione Granger openly having lunch with three former-Slytherins - one of whom was a former Death Eater and another, a son of one - Daphne struck up a conversation at once to alleviate the simmering tensity. "Slytherin versus Ravenclaw on Friday. Anyone care to place a wager?"

"Slytherin will win," Theo answered lazily, "but only just."

Raising one elegantly arched eyebrow, Daphne turned to Draco. "Think I should take that bet?"

"No," Hermione answered instantly as she poured herself a gobletful of pumpkin juice.

Draco snickered under his breath while Theo smirked self-indulgently.

"Slytherin does have pretty good chances for the Quidditch Cup this year," Daphne mused after entertaining a hefty eye-roll. A few students sitting nearby were beginning to whisper amongst themselves at Hermione's choice in companions, but Daphne defied them by willfully pressing through the neutral conversation, "It would be nice to see Ravenclaw take the Cup, though."

Draco shrugged. "Their Keeper is mediocre at best. He weakens the rest of the team."

"Sue once said as much," Daphne nodded, "but there isn't a reserve."

"Speaking of Li… look who’s making a move." Theo nodded toward the middle of the Ravenclaw table, where Sue and her Quidditch team were seated.

Hermione craned her neck over the multitude of heads to glance at what Theo was talking about. Sue, she noted, had been sitting toward the edge of her group and was now being subjected to the advances of Blaise Zabini.

"Oooh," breathed Daphne in a low, conspiratorial voice, "they've been making eyes at one another for  _ ages… _ "

Smiling to herself, Hermione's gaze flicked away from the subtle dalliance only to catch the eye of Ron, who was sitting directly in her line of vision at the Hufflepuff table with his own Quidditch team. He looked furious.

Leaning into Daphne somewhat, she whispered, "What do you think has got Ron's wand in a knot?"

The other girl tore her eyes away from Sue, who was now flirting almost shamelessly with Zabini. Her gaze quickly met Ron's; he was now staring at both witches with expressions of unveiled disgust, only breaking his scrutiny of them to glare at the backs of Draco's and Theo's heads.

Uncomfortable, Hermione scratched at the sleeve of her uniform shirt where it covered the damning Dark Mark. She dropped her hand when she caught Draco’s eyes following the movement.

"Oh, he does that," Daphne explained in an undertone. She was now staring exclusively at her nearly empty plate.

Hermione then noticed her friend's unburdened plate containing only a slice of bread with butter, of which she had only taken a few bites. "Have you spoken to him about leaving you be when you want to sit with your friends? It's really none of his business…"

"Sure. We agreed not to talk about it."

"Then why is he glaring at us?"

"Well… he's technically  _ not _ talking about it, is he?"

"Relax, Greengrass," Theo drawled, catching on to the subject of their private conversation. "It's not like you're going to marry the guy."

Hermione immediately looked to Nott to determine if this was the truth, but he was already preoccupied with selecting a second sandwich for himself.

"You're not helping," Draco chided loyally before Hermione could say anything. She glanced gratefully at him.

"No, it's fine," Daphne insisted, her cheeks rather pinker than usual. "I guess we're probably still too young for any of us to know who we'll end up married to. It's not like we can tell the future…"

Theo stifled a loud snicker into his sandwich. Hermione thought she noticed Draco was purposely avoiding her eyes.

The uncomfortable conversation was thankfully cut short by the arrival of a girl Hermione recognized as Tracey Davis – another former snake. Seeming to float rather than walk over to them, she sported a red-and-gold tie, indicating her new loyalty to Gryffindor House, and had a long curtain of reddish-blonde hair nearly to her waist. A slender face and high cheekbones would all have lent her to being undisputedly beautiful if it were not for the almost-preternatural steeliness of her hazel eyes, and the permanent scowl that played about her downturned mouth.

"Hey, Trace," Daphne greeted, shoving her barely consumed lunch away and fingering the buckle on her bookbag. "Divination already?"

Tracey nodded – but she was not looking at Daphne, she was looking at Hermione. To everyone's surprise, except perhaps Theo's, she stuck out her hand. "We've never formally met. Tracey Davis."

Astonished, Hermione hesitated a moment, then took the proffered hand. "Hermione Granger."

"Pleasure." Though Tracey let go of the handshake rather quickly, her sour expression at least did not grow more unpleasant. She took notice of the boys in turn with only a perfunctory, "Malfoy, Nott."

"Davis," they echoed in unison.

_ Slytherins certainly don't seem to encourage displays of familiarity, _ Hermione noted, inwardly repudiating their cold and haughty acknowledgements of one another. It did not surprise her in the least.

"See you around," Daphne bid. A moment later, she and Tracey were headed off to begin the long trek to the North Tower where Professor Trelawney chose to teach.

Left alone now with only the boys, Hermione had not realized how much of a safety blanket she had considered Daphne to be. It was one thing to request of Draco that he become her friend in the eyes of the student body, but it was entirely another to live it. Following Tracey's introduction of herself, there were more than a few eyes in the Great Hall fixed on Hermione Granger, no doubt wondering what the brains of the Golden Trio was up to, fraternizing with so many longtime-Slytherins.

Sensing this, Theo commented, "There's one more snake you're acquainted with now, eh?"

"It was nice of her to introduce herself, I suppose."

He chuckled at her naiveté. "Not as random as you're thinking, princess."

"Oh?"

Jerking his head in Draco's direction, Theo explained, "She made your acquaintance because the Prince of Slytherin House accepted you first."

With a long-suffering sigh, Draco demanded, "How many times have I asked you not to refer to me like that?"

"What noble moniker would you prefer as alternative, O Majestic Fanged One?"

Hermione giggled; Theo was far too ridiculous.

Draco turned his eyes to her, his gray-blues plaintive, and grumbled, "Not you, too…"

She giggled again.

After considering the accusation that Tracey Davis had only begun an acquaintance with her because  _ Draco _ had accepted her presence first, Hermione recalled how often her husband had been surrounded by other Slytherins in years past. Truly, one of the biggest behavioral changes he had undergone, was that post-war Malfoy did not feel the need to be encompassed by admirers the way pre-war Malfoy had. In fact, Draco's presence in the Great Hall was closer to a rarity these days. Before, he had always been in the presence of Crabbe and Goyle, and often with Pansy and her gang of Slytherin girls - which had included Daphne and Tracey.

Chuckling a bit to himself, Theo finished the last of his sandwich and professed to Hermione, "Draco may not be the ringleader of Slytherin House any longer, but many of us former snakes are used to taking direction from the Malfoys – and that goes beyond Hogwarts."

"Mm, I don't think that's so accurate anymore, after the war," Draco deliberated unhappily, though it was difficult to tell which part of Theo's words had displeased him. "The Davises are half-blood, so they like to toe the line on both sides. In any event, I doubt Granger needs to worry about social politics until Bulstrode starts coming around for tea…"

The very thought of Millicent Bulstrode – a large, muscular, and unpleasant girl who continued on in Slytherin even after the re-sorting – made Hermione blanch.

"Oh, I  _ have _ to know what  _ that's _ about," Theo practically sang, closing his eyes. “Why would Miss Lioness be afraid of our Millie?”

"Don't!" Hermione protested as she made a swatting motion at him. It was to no avail.

"Aww, poor ickle Granger," the Seer chortled, opening his eyes again. "Did big, bad Millie put you in a chokehold during Dueling Club in second year?"

Glaring at him, she baldly threatened, "I am never sitting with you again."

"You and I both know that's a lie."

"Ugh," she huffed, feeling throughly abused.

.

.

Deciding to take McGonagall’s advice, Hermione used her free block between lunch and Ancient Runes to head up to her new private quarters with her alchemy things, with good intentions for setting up their living quarters as a private study area. She did not escape the Great Hall before being accosted by Ginny, however, and her friend made her promise to join her in the Slytherin dormitories that evening while her two roommates were at a Gobstones Club meeting.

It did not take a genius to figure out that this meant Ginny intended to bombard her with questions - an assumption cemented into confirmation when Hermione noted her friend glancing curiously to the place where she had sat with Draco, Daphne, and Theo at lunch.

Luckily, it was easy to shake her off, as Ginny had Potions to get to. Hermione quickly dodged from the Great Hall before anyone else could confront her. All the same, she took a roundabout way to get to the third floor, feeling paranoid that someone would discover her entering the married quarters and begin asking inconvenient questions.

Picking out the correct gargoyle from the rest, she made her way to the entrance and opened her mouth to give the password when she was rudely interrupted: "Oh, it's you, is it?"

Thrown for a moment at the gargoyle's inhospitality, she stuttered out only, "Er…"

With a deep sigh, it iterated, "I suppose you're here because you want to get inside."

"Well, yes."

"No one ever comes here just to chat." It sighed again, looking deeply afflicted. Then, brightening an iota, it began, "Hey, I know – how many house elves does it take to feed a dragon?"

Raising both eyebrows, Hermione responded, "I'm not sure."

With a wheezing hack of a laugh, the gargoyle chuckled as it croaked out, "Depends how hungry the dragon is!"

_ Wonderful _ , she thought morosely.  _ Not only is it a sullen gargoyle, but it tells tasteless jokes…  _ She gave the password: "Eagle's nest."

Looking highly put out that she had not even laughed, the guardian coughed, "Fine, fine…" and sprung out of the way to admit her.

As it had done the previous night, her entrance caused the empty grate in the hearth to sputter to life, and a pleasant fire began dancing merrily. It appeared Draco had already visited earlier that morning, as there were signs of his presence in the small stack of books on the corner table of the living area, upon which his glasses were neatly folded. With curiosity, Hermione set aside his reading lenses and noted the presence of both Ravenclaw's and Slytherin's respective alchemy journals, as well as a third book entitled,  _ A Compendium of Mandalas in Magic. _

Glad to see he was taking their unbinding seriously, Hermione shuffled her own things onto the table as well, having packed her bookbag with useful materials she had collected over the course of her extensive research. Setting down  _ Serpents and the Dark Arts,  _ her eyes fell inadvertently onto Slytherin's alchemy journal. Though she had plans to spend her free block differently, she found her fingers reaching for the small leather-bound book before she even knew what she was doing.

The journal was less than 100 pages long and though Slytherin's writing was thin, it was tall and slanted, so it was fast reading. Hurtling through the pages at record speed, she paused again on the chapter where the Hogwarts founder described the use of Adder's Fork in a reverse-mandala.

_ But Draco and I are mirrored, not halved, _ she reasoned with herself, refusing to dismiss this notion despite that it did not, strictly speaking, make complete sense.  _ We bear the same marks and scars. Adder's Fork splits things – and since we aren't necessarily halved to begin with, that could go disastrously wrong. _

Which meant that, despite it never having been a desirable option to begin with, Adder's Fork was officially out.

Her mind dawdled on the memory of the chilly November day Draco had officially proposed to her.  _ If we are married for a year and a day and divorce becomes a non-option, we can try the Adder's Fork, _ he had promised. It had been a last resort, at best, but it had been something.

_ So much for that plan,  _ she thought dryly.

Pushing her bangs from her eyes, Hermione placed the small journal back onto Draco's stack and began rifling through her own things again, her feelings conflicted. As she began organizing her notes and drawings, a couple pieces of worn parchment fell from the rest and landed on the floor. Bending to pick it up, her heart froze a little when she recognized the letter from Priya and Indira Upadhyaya.

_ A sexual awakening on your mutual behalf goes hand-in-hand with magical prowess, _ the letter reminded her.  _ Bearing that in mind, channeling a sexual awakening inside an identical mandala may be the answer to your situation… _

She gazed guiltily at the unanswered letter and recalled her former resolution to send a response to the sisters.

_ May be the answer... _

"But not definitely," she reminded herself aloud.

Though she still felt her blood run cold at the idea of giving herself to Draco in such a way and for such a desperate reason, it felt somehow less degenerate than it had a month ago. The apprehension she felt now was less like agitated humiliation and more a sense of foreboding that was not entirely negative. She tried to imagine Draco's fingers gliding down her spine and she shuddered; it was as if he had appeared in spectral form to caress her very core… and the coldness she subsequently felt was a boreal chill akin to moonlight.

Resolved, she pulled out a chair at the little table by the window and dug into her bookbag for her inkpot, a quill and a spare bit of parchment.

__ Dear Priya and Indira,  
_ Thank you so much for your response to my query, some months ago. Please accept my apologies for not responding sooner. You have given me a lot to think about.  
_ __ I was hoping for some more information about what you suggested. Are there any books on this topic you can recommend? I have done some research of my own…

She paused here, feeling culpable about what she referred to as her "research" into the topic of awakening the kundalini. The truth was, of all the proposed options to unbinding herself and Draco, this was the one she had researched the least.

__ …and according to one source, the most ideal time to re-create our mandala for the purpose of unbinding ourselves using the kundalini energy would be on the vernal equinox. This falls on Sunday, March 21 this year. As this date is rapidly approaching, I am hoping to make a decision well in advance in order to plan ahead the making of another batch of essence of Salt, if necessary, as this process can take an entire month.  
_ Thank you again for answering my first letter. I hope to hear from you both soon,  
_ __ Hermione Granger

Throwing her quill down with finality, she stared at the letter. Regardless of how many things she'd had to do for the greater good, her own audacity still amazed her from time to time.

_ Perhaps if the response isn’t negative, I can share this option with Draco. He has a right to know, after all… _

A niggling voice in the back of her brain sneered, _ Just like Harry and Ron have a right to know that you're married? _

She shoved this idea away, as it only made her upset.

_ You're going to spend the entire evening with Ginny and you're not going to tell her, either? _ the presence pressed.  _ You confided in her first, after the mandala… _

_ And she hated being in my confidence for such a thing! She pushed and pushed for me to tell Harry and Ron. _

_ Don't they all have a right to know? _

"Stop it," she shushed her own mind, knowing she could easily drive herself mad by talking in circles.  _ Besides, this is for everyone's own good. _

Or so she told herself.

Considering what she did and did not know about her binding with Draco, she had deemed it best to keep a low profile with regard to what she shared with her friends. As Adder's Fork was officially nixed from the list as an option, and attempting to produce the element of quintessence was impractical, that really only left divorce... or so Draco probably assumed. It was a bitter pill that once a divorce was achieved, they could never be magically bound in such a manner again...

Another pang of guilt wracked her when she came full circle to what she was keeping from him. Sealing the letter on the table before her, she decided she would use one of the school owls to send it.

_ Of course, _ she paused,  _ there could possibly be a fifth option…  _ But her abstract suspicions about breaking down the truth-compelling powder could prove nothing until she got her hands on some Veritaserum. But how? It was highly regulated by the Ministry; she doubted even Harry could get some – and in any case, he was loathe to use his fame for things like that, even to this day.

_ Perhaps… Draco…? _

Resolved to ask him if he knew how she could get any of the difficult-to-procure substance, Hermione also determined she would request the use of his owl. After all, one of the school birds might not be up an international flight…

It definitely was not so that she had an excuse to talk to him again.

_ Definitely not. _

...Who was she kidding?

.

.

The Slytherin common room was just as Hermione remembered it from the party her friends had thrown last term: the aquarium-like walls that looked into the Black Lake tinged the very air with a greenish ambience, while the fiery glow from the vast fireplace somehow made the commons seem colder.

Zipping energetically past a couple pillars of tall cloches full of skulls, Ginny seemed not even to see the macabre displays any longer – or else she paid them no mind; Hermione, on the other hand, felt a shudder run through her at the sight. Several Slytherins stared at her as she was pulled along, though she did not get the impression that it was unusual for Ginny to be bringing outsiders in, despite how taboo it might once have been.

"My dorm is through here," the redhead explained, pausing by one of the many Medieval-era tapestries and brushing it aside without ceremony. A dark-paneled wooden door with a simple trim and an antique silver knob was revealed on the other side. She pushed it open and disappeared within.

Following her friend, Hermione came to an abrupt halt the moment she stepped inside. She could not help but stare.

Where Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff had mostly seemed to follow the same sort of general pattern for their House dormitories, Slytherin had gone in a completely different direction. Instead of the circular layout favored by the other three, these sleeping quarters were contained in a long, rectangular room with single steps upward like platforms for each bed. At the far end of the room, on the tallest platform, a magnificent porthole-like window viewed into the lake; around this window were several dark green prisms, which threw the eerie phosphorescent light of underwater into the room and on the walls. The end effect was rather grand and throne-like... one's eyes could not help but be drawn to the far side of the room.

There were only three beds here, but Hermione could just picture a pre-war Pansy Parkinson in her glorified prime lounging like a princess on the bed that rested beneath the lavishly decorated window. The layout certainly did not give off an egalitarian feel.

The four-poster beds were made of a delicate wrought metal and draped with black satin hangings. Silky black sheets covered the beds and pillows, while a green suede-like comforter lay across the bottom half of each of the beds for warmth if it were needed. Silver lanterns also hung by each bed for additional light.

Another striking variation were the walls: instead of the blank stone of the castle, these were all done in murals, similar to the tapestries that lined the Slytherin common room, except they were painted onto the stone itself, and inlaid here and there with silver flakes and mother of pearl. They were mercifully stationary.

"For the love of Morgana, 'Mione, come the rest of the way in! Christine and Maddie are at Gobstones club, so we have the place to ourselves for at least another two hours."

"It's just… your dormitory… it's so…"

"Elitist?" Ginny suggested dryly. "Yeah. Slytherins and their pecking orders."

Pointing to the most prominent bed in the place of honor, Hermione asked, "Who's got that one?"

"Christine. She was Slytherin before the re-sorting and the girls she used to share her dorm with always made her take the lowest bed since she was half-blood… so Maddie and I let her have it. I'm a Gryffindor and Maddie was Ravenclaw, so what do we care?"

The friends settled onto Ginny's bed in the middle of the three, which was apparently the perfect opening for Ginny to begin her interrogation.

"So… you and Malfoy. What's going on there?"

"Are you sure you're a Slytherin?" the curly-haired witch stalled. "That was an awfully Gryffindor approach."

"Don't try to distract me, it  _ always _ works. You sat with him at lunch!"

"And Daphne and Theo…"

"I don't care about  _ them _ , I want the dirt."

Hermione sighed deeply. "Draco and I have been conducting research to be sure we know all of our options for getting out of this mess..."

"Ooh, and he's  _ Draco _ now, is he?"

"Ginny…"

"Whatever, 'Mione. I didn't mean I want you to tell me about your alchemy shenanigans – though as your friend, I obviously care very deeply – but I meant, have you continued snogging Malfoy?"

She could feel her face heating up.

It must have been obvious because Ginny began to chant, "Tell, tell, tell!"

"Not a chance."

"Please? I'll tell you what Harry and I got up to over break," she tantalized.

"I don't want to know!" Hermione howled.

"Tell me!"

"No!"

"Well Harry and I…"

"I don't want to know!"

"… had sex over Christmas break."

Clapping her hands over her ears, Hermione groaned, "Gah!"

With a massive whoop, Ginny swung a pillow directly into Hermione's face.

"Hey!"

But it was too late. Ginny's pillow fights were the stuff of legend; like a juggernaut, she was impossible to stop once she had initiated. For nearly a quarter of an hour, Hermione feebly attempted to defend herself against the grueling assailment of Ginny's onslaught, only barely keeping up.

By the time the girls had finished their duel, one of the feather pillows had burst. With both of them giggling exhaustedly, Ginny began assisting in the fruitless task of picking downy feathers from Hermione's wild curls. It was no use, as numerous plumates wafted through the air and caught on furniture and in the viridian green carpet. Feathers sticking to both their heads, the girls collapsed in hilarity onto Ginny's bed once more.

Wiping tears of mirth from the corner of her eye, Ginny admitted conspiratorially, "You know, I actually think Malfoy is better than Rivers ever was."

Completely thrown, Hermione articulated only, "What?"

"Well for one thing, Ron was super jealous of Rivers…"

"But Oliver and I never dated! We went on a singular date, that's not the same thing!"

"But he  _ wanted _ to date you."

Hermione conceded that this was true; Oliver had admitted as much, himself.

"Well, you and Ron only broke up the day before term started up again, right? I mean, he was worried things would be awkward after you two split – honestly, Harry and I were worried, too – because having the three of you together is exactly how it should be, and well, you're all used to having me there too, I suppose."

"Ron has Daphne now," Hermione answered evasively.

"Yeah, and she seems alright, though I don't really know her. My point is, Rivers can't  _ relate _ to everything we all went through, you know? I mean, didn't you say his parents pulled him from school and the lot of them went to live with some relatives in Belgium?"

"That was what he told me," she agreed.

"Well," Ginny considered, sucking on the inside of her cheek and looking thoughtful, "he hid."

"So?"

"So my point is, he didn't know what the war was  _ like _ . You, Harry, and Ron  _ lived _ it while you were on the run. I lived it, here at Hogwarts. Rivers didn't."

"And Draco?"

"Well, he lived it too, didn't he? He went through the same shite, just from the other side."

Hermione fell silent; her friend had given her quite a bit to think about. Ginny seemed to sense this because after a moment, she re-commenced with picking down feathers from both their hair in silence.

"What was it like, Ginny?"

"What?"

"Sex."

"Are you planning on…?"

"No, no," Hermione quickly denied. "Just curious."

Ginny looked as if she did not believe her, and made a face.

"No, really," she protested, propping herself up on her elbow to look her friend in the eye, "that would be a terrible idea – according to the alchemist McGonagall initially wrote to, it might even make the binding permanent."

"But you'd otherwise be considering it?"

Instead of lying, she boldly admitted, "Possibly."

Ginny made a grimace at the idea, but courteously refrained from saying anything. "Well... the first time wasn't so great. It didn't last very long, and Harry and I were both bad at it. The second time was good though. The third time was awesome. The fourth time was fantastic. The fifth time…"

"How much sex have you two had?" Hermione demanded, scandalized.

"Well, we christened nearly every room of Grimmuald Place. Some of them twice."

"I will never be able to go there again," she whispered horrified.

Ginny shoved her playfully.

"Did it hurt?"

"Not really. I do a lot of Quidditch, you know. There wasn't really anything for Harry to break in, if you get what I'm saying."

"It sounds like you're telling me you lost your virginity to a broomstick."

She got another pillow to her face for her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, this story frustrates the ever-loving crap out of me. But then I sit down, re-read all the love you all have left me, make myself a cuppa, and sit my ass back down at the laptop. Comments are as good as having nothing to do on a rainy day and being allowed to snuggle up with a good book and a mug of tea. Thank you.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	52. Golpalott's Third Law

**** On Wednesday, Hermione did a very Hermione-like thing and skipped lunch entirely so she could spend some time in the library before Potions. Her efforts were rewarded when she discovered an unassuming-looking book entitled  _ Poisons, Antidotes, and You. _

Despite the nonsensical title, the book contained exactly what she had been trying to articulate to Theo in the library the previous Sunday: it was theoretically possible to break down serums in the same manner as it was for antidotes, by applying Golpalott's Third Law.

_ I still need some Veritaserum, _ she lamented.  _ I should ask Draco if he knows how to get any, next chance I get. If not him, maybe Harry. In the mean time, I can start trying to disassemble the truth-compelling powder. Once I get it broken into its most basic parts and do the same to some Veritaserum, I can theoretically figure out what would act as an antidote for both… _

The first warning bell for afternoon classes sounded, taking her by surprise. Not having realized she had been so long in the library, she shut the book with a snap and hastened toward Madam Pince's desk to check out  _ Poisons, Antidotes, and You _ , feeling rather silly doing so.

What she was planning to pull off had never been done before – that she knew. If she were successful, she would not only be a step closer to finding an answer to the conundrum of her’s and Draco's lives... she could accept a place in potioneering history. Even if she only found an antidote to Veritaserum (nevermind taking the theory behind it further to answer the puzzlement that was their mandala-gone-awry), she would be discovering something that the wizarding world had never been able to create before…

"One foot in front of the other, Hermione," she murmured to herself on her way to the dungeons.

.

.

Potions seemed to pass in great globs of time, despite being a double-block. Hermione was distracted enough that she nearly did not notice when Harry added the porcupine quills to their Disillusionment Draught far too early. Luckily she caught the faux pas before any real disaster occurred.

"Bollocks," Harry cursed under his breath, looking relieved she had stepped in. "I think this is one I need to know for Auror training, too. I'll never make it through if I can't even do this."

"Relax, Harry," she soothed, dropping a sprig of lavender into the cauldron. "That's why you're in school: to learn these things. In any case, the Auror program will most likely promote you based on past merit alone. You’re the wizard that defeated Voldemort, after all."

"But I don't want to be promoted because of  _ that _ ," he muttered quietly.

Ron, meanwhile, had left the heat too high on his and Daphne's potion. It had bubbled over and melted a part of their work station in the brief time she had stepped away to rummage through the supply cupboard. Panic-stricken, he had tried to vanish the mess... but given the nature of the potion, this had only made it worse.

After class, Hermione cornered Professor Slughorn and grilled him with questions about serums until he was forced to invent an excuse for showing her out. Not to be deterred from her purpose, she navigated herself straight to the married suite and assembled a potions laboratory in miniature.

Having elongated the coffee table to act as a work space, she soon had a cauldron heating up atop an iron handle. Propping open  _ Advanced Potion Making _ to the page dedicated to Golpalott's Third Law, she set to work.

"'The potion-maker must find that single ingredient which, when added to the blended antidotes, transforms them near-alchemically into a combined whole which will counteract the entire blended poison'," she read aloud from the book, her finger moving across the page beneath the words as she went along. "'Simply put, a true antidote to a blended poison is more than the sum of its parts.'"

There were more than a scant handful of what-ifs with regard to this experiment – but as with the initial mandala experiment she and Draco had conducted in the first place, she was now simply too curious not to try...

Once the dissolving agent was prepared, she set to work immediately, using only a miniscule amount of truth-compelling powder to break down; she could feel instinctively that she should not waste it all. The fumes from the steaming cauldron quickly turned her curls into an uncontrollable tumbleweed, but she paid it no mind.

Complicated concoction that it was, she was at it for over two hours, pulling ingredients from the cauldron as they floated to the top of her bubbling brew, and analyzing what the truth-compelling powder appeared to be made of. She was beginning to grow tired of being bent over the cauldron, and was sweaty from the steam building up in the chamber, when the dormitory admitted Draco.

Hermione’s head snapped up, and she saw him come to a halt under the arch of the entryway. Immediately feeling self-conscious, she knew she must look a fright - after brewing for this long, her hair always tended toward looking abominable, so huge and curly it would dwarf the rest of her head. She shifted uncomfortably where she sat cross-legged on the carpet, her nose still in her book and cauldron boiling away. Over thirty dishes of raw ingredients were fanned out in a semi-circle around her on the floor; a few other books were scattered amongst the ingredients.

He cleared his throat and cocked his head to the side.

“Hello,” she greeted. Her throat was somewhat scratchy, so it came out a bit croaky. She had to clear her throat, but it only made her more self-conscious.

Slowly, he approached, eyes on her until he was directly in front of her. Then, leaning over her well-worn copy of  _ Advanced Potion Making _ , he glanced down at the page she had turned to, and questioned, "Golpalott's Third Law?"

“Er, yes.”

He pressed a swift kiss to her forehead. “You have something on your cheek…”

Raising her hand up, she wiped at her face and her thumb came away with a smear of something orange and pasty she had pulled from the cauldron over an hour ago, and had not yet identified. 

“Well, that’s embarrassing…” she muttered, wiping her thumb on a small towel beside her.

“A drawback to advanced potioneering, actually,” he allowed, eyes roving over her collection of ingredients all around, before coming to rest on her again. "Well, wife... you're up to something."

"That's the second time you've called me that," she pointed out wistfully.

"Called you what?"

"Wife."

He smirked widely, "Well, that's what you are. Now, care to share what it is you're working on?"

"I… well…"

"What's this?" he teased, circling around the outside of her ingredient collection, "has Mrs. Malfoy been up to something  _ wicked _ ?"

A shiver ran through Hermione that she was absolutely certain had nothing to do with the wind howling outside the windows. "How is it you make that sound so indecent?"

Seemed more pleased than ever, he came to a stop behind her and squatted down to press a second kiss behind her ear, "Because you wanted it to be."

She shivered again, her hands frozen over her work. "I don't think so."

"What sort of wicked things did you want to get up to, wife?" he whispered into her ear, pressing another kiss in front of her lobe. "Do tell me."

"Draco…" she murmured. Her hands became still, work forgotten.

"Mmm," he hummed, now kissing the side of her neck where her pulse throbbed, "that wasn't very specific."

She gasped as he nipped at the most tender spot on her neck, "I know."

"Well, then," he murmured, pulling away and resting his chin on her shoulder from behind. "Tell me what sort of work you're doing."

"Well…"

"And don't try to lie," he warned, nuzzling her neck. "I can smell your brain cooking something up. Save yourself the trouble and just tell me the truth."

_ Would that really be so bad? _ She licked her lips and judiciously began, "Perhaps I  _ was _ a little bit wicked…"

Draco's shoulders went back slightly where he hovered behind her, his interest clearly piqued, "Oh?"

Picking up the stoppered vial of the ultra-fine truth-compelling powder in her hands, Hermione turned it over twice before holding it up for him to see, turning to look him in the eye, "Do you remember this?"

Eyes flashing with both surprise and intrigue, he said nothing at first.

After two beats of silence, she pressed, "Draco?"

Plucking the vial from her hands, he examined it in his palm. "You took this from Ravenclaw's study?"

Raising her chin defiantly, she answered, "Yes."

He stared at it a moment longer.

"I'm not sorry I did it."

Placing the vial back into her hands, he corrected, "You misunderstand my silence. I'm not interested in your remorse… I'm impressed." His eyes darted around the fanned-out semi-circle of ingredients separated into small dishes all around her, then to  _ Advanced Potion Making  _ propped open on a bookstand before her. "Am I to understand you're breaking this powder down as if it were a blended poison, and you are trying to find an antidote?"

"Yes."

His brows furrowed. "To what end? There’s never been a successful antidote yet made to the truth serum. I know you're intelligent, but what makes you think a student can discover it with only a prototype version and a textbook?"

Hermione reached beside her and held up  _ Poisons, Antidotes, and You. _ "This book believes most serums can be broken down in the same manner as poisons, using Golpalott's Third Law. I wanted to see if I could do it to the powder too… it seemed a better place to start, since many simple poisons come in powdered form, while the more complex or stronger ones tend to be liquid."

"But to what  _ end _ ?" Draco stood now, observing her mess from above, his eyes darting from ingredient to ingredient. The small glass dishes that surrounded her were filled with strange bits of things: some orange gloop was directly beside her, along with a blue-green liquid, several wet piles of powdered ingredients, and a single shriveled sphere that might have been whole nutmeg.

"I had a theory," she explained. Using a fine-mesh sifter to lift something that looked like ground peppercorns where it surfaced in the cauldron, she siphoned it into yet another glass dish. She stirred counter-clockwise as she elucidated, "If I can find an antidote of sorts that will counteract the effects of the truth-compelling powder, I've found a cure for it in a sense."

"But you'd need some Veritaserum to test it against as well," Draco pointed out, his eyes now on the cauldron, which began spitting out silvery sparks the moment she ceased stirring. "That way you could be sure you undisputedly had the answer."

"I know. I'd like to test that next."

Regarding her keenly, he posited, "How are you planning to obtain it in the first place? It's highly regulated by the Ministry. More than ever after the war."

"I was hoping  _ you _ might be able to help me with that, actually. If I can successfully find an ingredient that acts as antidote for a powerful serum like Veritaserum and this rather potent truth-compelling powder, what's to say I can't break down our mandala chemically? After all, we used powder- and liquid-based materials to bind ourselves. If I can disassemble the ingredients we used in the same way and find an antidote of sorts to them, maybe we could find a way out through chemistry."

Draco was only staring at her, but she could practically hear his brain whirring away with what she had just dropped onto his shoulders.

"Think about it. It could be as easy as us drinking a decoction made of a few simple ingredients, and the effects of the Mercury and Sulfur that were in our mandala would be undone. Like flipping a light switch." It occurred to her after she said it, that it was distinctly possible Draco had never used a light switch before. Nevertheless, she pressed on, "We wouldn't have to undo the entire mandala, just this _one_ _part_. It could make the whole thing null and void!"

"That's… there are so many things… that might not…" he uttered disjointedly. "It's just… it's  _ brilliant… _ if it works…"

"If it works," she agreed practically. "I'm aware how much I am trying to stretch this. Do you remember the chapter McGonagall taught about the Comte de Saint-Germain's teachings?"

Draco mused a moment; if he was not mistaken, that particular lecture was the one in which Hermione had failed to show and he, himself, had dozed in class. "Which part?"

"I'm thinking particularly of his claims that alchemically, powders are like all other powders at their most basic state, and liquids are like liquids…"

"Ah, so you're counting on the fact that if this were true, the truth-compelling powder is not unlike the sulfur powder, and the mercury is not unlike Veritaserum. Interesting thought."

"Right." Hermione paused here to scoop another base ingredient from the top of her lightly simmering cauldron. Placing the damp silver strands that might have been unicorn tail hair into its own dish, she glanced into the cauldron once more. The process seemed now complete, as the steaming solution inside ceased emitting sparks and was now a murky brown. "So can you help me?"

"How?" he queried.

"Can you get me some Veritaserum?" she pressed. "Because if not, I will try asking Harry…"

"I'll see what I can do," he interrupted irritably. "No need to ask Potter."

She snickered at him. Some rivalries, it seemed, were forever.

"But," he stipulated, "if my friend is able to help us, meeting him could be a potential issue, as he does not go to Hogwarts and travels widely."

Hermione nodded sagely. "I can get us out of the castle if necessary."

"I thought you were highly against rule-breaking?" he japed.

"That's the thing about being best friends with Harry," she retorted. "Rules kind of go right out the window. I can get us out."

"I'll send my owl tonight," he promised.

_ Maybe you'll let me send a letter of my own when your owl comes back _ , she thought privately, thinking of her follow-up inquiry to the Upadhyaya sisters secretly tucked away in her alchemy things.

.

.

The new Head Boy and Girl called a prefect meeting for the very next evening, Thursday. Hermione arrived early and took a seat toward the middle of the room, pretending to be focused on her book despite that she automatically glanced up each time the door opened. Draco sauntered in a few minutes later and took a perfunctory look around the room. He hesitated when he spotted her.

Catching his eye, she smiled and gestured to the seat beside her with only her eyes and a half-smile. He took the hint and made his way over cautiously, as a cat does when they want to pretend their approach was all their own idea. As Draco had historically been a loner during these meetings – something the other prefects had been more than happy to allow – his choice of seating was immediately taken note of. Though Hermione could hear the whispers like hissing snakes, she roundly ignored them.

The Head Boy, Aidan Quinlan, was a very pimply sort of person with a mop of curly, blond hair, a large nose, and glasses. He mainly let the Head Girl run the meeting. Considered to be quite pretty by most of the male population at Hogwarts, Morag Francis had a petite figure, a flirty bob of nut-brown hair, and a winning smile.

"Our headmistress has tasked us with coming up with another event to help boost school morale," Morag announced. "After all the success of having the Halloween Dance, Aidan and I have decided to throw a Spring Fling and want you all to help us plan!"

This declaration was met with excited twitterings from most of the girls, but also a few groans from some of the boys. Simon Brocklehurst of the sixth year Hufflepuff prefects could be heard muttering, "When did 'prefect' become synonymous with 'party planner'?"

"It'll be fun!" the Head Girl chirped, determined to shut out the naysayers.

Hermione inwardly agreed with Simon. The moment the meeting was adjourned, she caught Draco's eye and nodded toward the exit; taking the hint, he rose and she followed him out. It was their evening for patrol.

Once sufficiently far enough away from the meeting place, Draco broke their silence with, "I have some good news for you."

"Oh?"

He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a letter with an enormous seal of wax stretching across most of the front. It was broken, indicating it had already been read. He unfolded it now. "My friend got back to me."

"Already!" she cried with enthusiasm. "What does it say?"

"You are in luck."

"He has the Veritaserum?" she exclaimed. "Oh, Draco!"

Excited, she flung her arms around his neck. Catching her, he lifted her up and swung her around once, kissing her deeply. Chuckling, he set her down and Hermione thought she noticed his eyes were strangely shining with amusement. "Is this all it takes to win over fair lady?"

She laughed with abandon and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him again.

Sobering somewhat, he explained, "He wants to meet us tomorrow night in Hogsmeade."

"Tomorrow!" she gasped.

"Yes. He's a busy man and will only be at his home in Paris for a few more days before business takes him back to the States."

"Your friend is American?" she queried, surprised.

"Yes, though my father initially met his family while they lived in France."

"Can you trust him?"

"He is one of the few people I would trust with affairs like this and expect that he will truly keep them a secret." Thinking a moment, he conceded, "Though perhaps I would not trust him with my life. He is a businessman after all."

Hermione frowned. "Well, luckily, we only need to trust him to get us the Veritaserum."

Draco hesitated, "There  _ is _ the complication of meeting him in the village. If he had chosen Saturday, it would have been no issue, as it is already a Hogsmeade weekend for students. Unfortunately, he writes that he has several meetings on Saturday and can only spare Friday night…"

She waved this away in an imperious manner, "Leave that to me. I can get us out of the castle."

He raised a pale eyebrow at her in an expectant manner and she knew she was meant to further clarify herself.

"Well," she explained, "when you're best friends with Harry, you learn certain things about Hogwarts. There are secret passages that lead out of the castle…"

"The passage from the dungeons to the Quidditch Pitch will be out," he reminded her, "as there will be a game occurring tomorrow night… and if the secret passage you're thinking of happens to be the one that leads out of the Room of Hidden Things, I refuse to enter that room."

"It's not," she soothed, reaching up to brush a piece of platinum hair away that had fallen into his eyes. He bristled at her touch and she promised, "I would never ask you to go there."

Though he did relax somewhat, Draco continued to be visibly on edge. "Well, what then?"

"There are seven other passages out of the castle. Filch knows about three of them and the fourth is caved in. Our best bet is one Harry discovered in third year. There's a trapdoor on the other end that opens into the cellar of Honeydukes."

"That sounds like breaking and entering to me," he pointed out acerbically.

"The shop will be closed by that hour. In any case, we only need to reach the trapdoor so we know we are beyond the castle's anti-Apparition wards. We can Apparate from inside the tunnel."

After assuaging a few others of Draco's concerns, Hermione was pleased when he admitted it was a solid plan.

"Perfect. Tomorrow, when everyone is heading down to the game, meet me by the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor. We'll leave immediately if the coast is clear."

"You really want this Veritaserum plan to work, don't you?"

"Don't  _ you _ ?"

"It's a long shot, but if it works…" he trailed off.

"If it works," she agreed.  _ And if it doesn't, I am working on another back up plan... _

Clearing her throat, she broached the subject. "Actually, now that your owl is returned, I was wondering if you would let me use it to send a letter?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her, "One of the school owls does not suffice?"

"It's an international letter," she explained vaguely.

Draco studied her in a calculating manner. "Last term, McGonagall told me you had sent inquiries to various alchemists. Is this along those lines?"

She nodded.

"I’d be interested in the responses you got. Will you share them?"

"If you like," she acquiesced, glad she had set the sisters' letter apart from the rest. She wanted to be sure of this alternate course of action before she let Draco know of the details.

"Well, then, by all means…"

Once they completed their patrol, the duo headed to their private suite so Hermione could retrieve her letter, and thence to the Owlery in the West Tower.

The stone staircase was long and tightly circular, with tall steps that made sure their climb was not an easy one. As they approached the top landing, Draco placed a hand on the small of Hermione's back and bid, "Watch your step. It's usually icy here."

As the top landing was mostly exposed to the elements, there was indeed an icy sheen glistening in the moonlight over a vast expanse of it. Picking her way carefully over the parts that appeared less dangerous, Hermione stepped into the circular stone room of the Owlery at last.

It was rather cold and drafty inside, largely because none of the many windows had any glass in them, to allow the owls to come and go freely. The floor was entirely covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice, voles, and other victims. As it was night, many of the messengers were out hunting; those that remained were making such a racket that it was difficult to hear anything over the din.

"Noctua!" Draco summoned.

With a great flapping of wings and a deep-throated hoot, a magnificent bird so large it looked as if it would happily have eaten Crookshanks for breakfast, descended onto the perch before them. It had mottled plumage, great black tufts top its head, and was clutching the top half of a weasel in its deadly looking talons. Hermione had seen this bird from afar, delivering mail to a young Malfoy at the Slytherin table, but she was unprepared for the hugeness of the eagle owl up close. For the first time, she noticed what the owl was missing: only one yellow-orange eye blinked down at her.

"What happened to his eye?" she wondered quietly, still somewhat in awe of the sheer power of the creature before her.

" _ Her _ eye," Draco correctly automatically. "Noctua is female. She lost it carrying one of my letters about a year and a half ago."

"How awful."

"I imagine, based on her appearance when she returned from that particular excursion, that you would feel less sorry for her if you had seen whatever attacked her." More than anything, he sounded proud of his bird. "She returned, letter intact, covered in blood… most of it not her own."

Noctua clicked her beak and stretched her left raptorial, as this was the foot that was not already occupied with her bloodied prey.

"I've got a job for you, girl," Draco told the bird. He held out his hand for Hermione's letter and for the first time, she wondered if this was not a bad idea. She tried to imagine Noctua returning anything to her, and found herself wondering if it were even safe for her to trust this bird; the feral look in that bright eye did not assuage that fear. All the same, she handed over the letter and Draco began attaching it to his messenger's leg. "I need you to take this letter to…"

He paused, glancing at Hermione for the destination.

"India," she supplied.

Looking scandalized at the destination – it was, after all, nearly a 5,000 mile journey – Draco only politely repeated, "Right, India. It's far, so finish up whatever you're eating before you go. You'll need your strength."

Noctua did not heed her master's suggestion, instead only ripping the head off the remainder of her supper and dropping the rest of the body onto the floor below. She swallowed it whole with little difficulty, then hopped over to one of the ledges for take-off. As she spread her wings for flight, Hermione thought her wingspan must easily have been around six foot, before she disappeared silently into the night.

"Draco? When Noctua returns… will you please let me open the letter first? If she brings it to you instead of me?"

Eyes narrowing, he baldly asked, "Why?"

"I promise I  _ will _ share it with you, but some of it is… well," she struggled, "it's of a private nature."

"I see." After a moment, he inclined his head, "As you wish."

"Thank you." Feeling a certain lightness in her chest now that the letter had been sent and she now had only to wait, Hermione pushed up onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

"What was that for?"

"Thank you," she answered. "For everything."

She moved to turn away, but he held her in place, capturing her with another kiss, this time deeper. Feeling his tongue slide into her mouth, she welcomed him eagerly.

Several minutes later, when they finally broke apart, she joked, "Who knew a place covered in owl pellets could be romantic?"

He grimaced, "It isn't, let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this is somewhat of a transition chapter. I actually can't wait to post the next, because it was the most fun to write of all of them yet - but all this stuff had to happen first, and I'm assuming you all want a linear plot, right? Probably will help in the long run and all...
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments - apologies if I didn't respond to yours, it was only because I have been so busy handing out chapters like hotcakes, lol... I have the best readers on AO3, and that's a fact.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so please excuse any mistakes.


	53. Of Nights That Never End

**** Hermione's plan to smuggle herself and Draco out of Hogwarts went without a hitch.

"You could have told me it would be dirty down here," Draco complained as they made their way through the passage.

"It's an underground tunnel. It didn't think that needed to be stipulated."

He huffed a bit over this, but made no further complaint. The underpass seemed to go on for ages, growing narrower in some places and damp in others. In one spot, Hermione's foot made a great  _ sploosh _ when it came into contact with a large puddle. Though Draco grumbled under his breath again, she marched onward, ignoring both him and the growing wetness in her socks.

At last, their path began upward as it followed an incline until Hermione's wandlight fell on the wood of the trapdoor above her head. Conspiratorially, she whispered, "We're here."

"Let's Apparate to the Shrieking Shack from here," he suggested without hesitation. "It'll be deserted at this hour and we can clean ourselves up a bit before meeting Kassem at the Three Broomsticks."

Hermione nodded, though Draco could not see in the dimness. "I'll meet you out front."

With a double  _ crack _ they both Disapparated, only to reappear several feet away from one another in the looming shadow of the old house. Draco had been correct: there was not a soul in sight. They tidied themselves up as best they could, and for the first time that evening, Hermione was grateful Lisa had insisted on doing up all the Ravenclaw girls' hair for the Quidditch match.

She had originally gone along with the toilette because it made for a great alibi to pretend she was going to the game. A mysterious illness had befallen her just beforehand however, and at least as far as the other girls knew, she would probably need to spend the night in the Hospital Wing. Her straightened curls were now tamed and twisted into a Dutch crown braid that wound like a garland around her head; the updo made it significantly easier to brush off the dirt that had fallen from the ceiling of the underground passage.

"Hermione," Draco said suddenly as they walked toward their destination, "whatever you do, don't mention to Kassem the reason you need the Veritaserum."

Nosy by nature, she almost questioned him – but stopped herself before the words left her tongue. By now, she had spent enough time around Slytherins to understand some of their reasons for secrecy. It was like a poker game… and keeping one's hand hidden, was preferable.

Kassem was tall enough to rival even Ron, and his feet gripped the earth heavily, as if they were in the act of being cast in bronze for the making of his own statue. The wizard's eyes were dark tigers, prowling to strike at threats. His mouth however, was twisted into a smile that could not be mistaken for anything other than genuine. Hermione suspected he was likely in his early to mid-twenties.

"Malfoy, you reprobate," he chortled with a curiously mixed accent. He stuck out a well-manicured hand to shake Draco's. "How the hell are you?"

_ He certainly seems friendly, _ Hermione thought cautiously.

"Well enough," Draco answered, taking the offered handshake. "May I introduce Hermione, my wife?"

Her brain stopped.

_ Did he just…? _

He had.

_ What? _

Interest visibly piqued as his gaze shifted toward her, Kassem made a half-bow toward her and took her hand, kissing it. " _ Enchanté _ ,  _ madame _ ."

Draco waved him away from her, a smirk spreading widely across his face. "Our marriage remains a secret to the public at large, Charafeddine. I've only told  _ you _ because I know how you are with women."

With an authentic, booming laugh, he admitted, "Fair enough!"

"Shall we go inside?" Hermione suggested, her eyes on the Three Broomsticks nearby.

"Ah," Kassem lamented, his glittering eyes taking her in, inch by inch. "After all the trouble of smuggling both of yourselves out of the school? A shining jewel like yourself deserves to be put on display to the whole of Paris…"

Unable to help herself, Hermione blushed a deep crimson. She was spared answering when Draco replied for her. "We aren't dressed for going out, as you see."

But his friend only waved this away. "Don't tell me you snuck out purely for business?  _ C’est scandaleux _ !"

"We can't possibly go to France tonight, you loon," Draco insisted good-naturedly.

"But of course you can! A bit of fun for you both after the war you've been through, here in Great Britain… I have a portkey to take us back to my  _ maison _ and a fireplace there that will allow international travel for you both in the morning."

Draco hesitated, but she noticed that his eyes had slowly travelled over to her, as if to gauge her reaction to the scheme.

Meanwhile, Kassem pushed a bit harder, "It’s been too long since we corresponded for anything other than business, my friend."

Sliding a bit closer to Hermione, Draco queried in a low voice, "What do you think?"

The old version of her rose up into the forefront of her mind and chastised,  _ How can you even think of going? You've already broken at least twenty school rules tonight! _

_ We're already out, _ her rebellious side pointed out,  _ and being outside of school, it isn't as if I can continue breaking even more rules... _

To Draco, she whispered, "Is it safe?"

Kassem roared with laughter, though she had not intended for him to hear the small question at all. "My dear  _ madame _ , you will be safe enough - though I will not guarantee your absolute safety - and for that reason alone, I promise you will enjoy yourself immensely."

She looked to Draco, who raised his eyebrows, while a mischievous grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Gaze flicking back to Kassem, Hermione conceded, "Perhaps just for a bit…"

"Excellent," the American purred. "The promised vial of truth serum is there, in any case."

"You sly dog!" Draco appraised. "You never take 'no' for an answer, do you?"

Kassem chortled at his own cunning, and though Draco seemed more appreciative of his friend's cheek than annoyed, Hermione sniffed disdainfully. Whilst Kassem busied himself with pulling a pocket-watch from his robes and activating the Portkey, Hermione privately suspected that if Draco's friend had attended Hogwarts, he would have been a member of Slytherin House.

_ Here goes nothing, _ she thought with trepidation - as well as a small thrum of excitement - as she took hold of the Portkey. The familiar sensation of being pulled forward by a hook around her navel hurtled her through time and space to… Merling only knew where...

Three pairs of feet landed on the soft, plush carpet of an exquisitely decorated room wide enough to have fit the entirety of the Ravenclaw common room. It was decorated in a highly avant-garde fashion, with a low ceiling and a collection of furniture resembling architecture like what Hermione might have expected to find in a modern art museum. It was such a difference from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, that it came as a shock upon first glance.

"Where are we?" she wondered aloud, somewhat disoriented.

"Welcome to Paris,  _ madame _ ," Kassem answered. "More specifically, we are at my  _ maison _ along the River Seine... and before all our wits become too addled, and I forget..." he strode to a nearby cabinet and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid, "here is your Veritaserum."

She accepted the small ampoule of potion and tucked it safely into the pocket of her robes. Absentmindedly, she gazed out a large window that looked out onto the Seine. _ I must be dreaming... _

"Have you purchased this place for yourself?" Draco queried, admiring the flat. Hermione thought he looked out-of-place amid all the modern architecture.

"A gift from my father."

"Kassem?" a breathy voice called from the entryway.

"Ahhh… Élodie, Christelle…  _ mes belles demoiselles _ …"

Indeed there were two women waiting for him and though Hermione looked up in curiosity, she hastily looked away again when she discovered both women were wearing what appeared only to be scant negligée.

"We are all going out, my loves," Kassem told both the women. "Christelle,  _ aide Hermione à s'habiller _ . Hermione: Christelle will find you something to wear. You seem about be around the same size."

As the shorter of the two women - a thin blonde - floated her way over, Hermione was seized by a feeling of inferiority at the French woman's flawlessness. All the same, the witch gazed at her without apparent judgment and took her by the hand, bidding only, " _ Suis moi _ …"

As she was led away, she cast a backward glance at Draco, hoping to convey her dismay. He only smirked unhelpfully back at her. Clearly this was only a cause of great amusement to him. She inwardly harrumphed, chiding herself for not knowing any better than to suppose he might have been useful in delaying the inevitable.

Christelle, it was immediately apparent, did not speak much English, and as Hermione spoke barely any French, the two women were reduced to communicating mostly in gestures. The witch's boudoir was plentifully bestrewn with black and pink silks, from the curtains, to the bedspread, to the clothing tossed over much of the floor area. She was very clearly at least a semi-permanent guest of Kassem's.

The French witch sat Hermione down in an elegantly carved wooden chair (upholstered in pink silk, of course), and reached for her braid to undo all of Lisa's hard work from a few hours prior. Hermione's hair tumbled down, both shining from being straightened and wavy from the braiding.

" _ C’est classique _ !" Christelle exclaimed admiringly, running her well-manicured fingers through Hermione's locks to untangle one or two inevitable snarls.

The real snag came when Christelle attempted to find an outfit Hermione deemed suitable for wearing in public. The first obstacle was that most of the witch's outfits consisted of little more than a few scraps of fabric sewn together in a few strategic places to keep her lady bits under wraps. The second impediment was Hermione's unwillingness to showcase the scars she shared with Draco, particularly those disfiguring her forearms. As if this did not make for enough difficulties, many of Christelle's outfits were pink, which was spectacularly awful against Hermione's skin tone.

A pile of rejected dresses grew taller on the black-and-pink silken bedspread. After twenty-something outfits having been refused for one reason or another, Christelle's patience was finally gone.

She elicited a snort of anger and thrust the fourth outfit Hermione had spurned back into her hands. Without waiting for permission, Christelle reached for the hem of her uniform cardigan and pulled it over her head. Hermione screeched – more in surprise than anything else – and made to cover herself despite the white blouse and chemise that were still doing a more-than-ample job. Christelle slapped her hands away, already working on the buttons that went down the front of the white shirt.

"I can do that!" Hermione flared.

The other woman only laughed, a musical sort of sound. Once Hermione was reduced to her thin chemise and box-pleat skirt, Christelle tutted and pulled the skirt down.

"Well  _ you're _ certainly not interested in modesty, are you?" Hermione snapped in annoyance.

Christelle must have at least caught the tone of her voice, because she began shaking the ball of fabric that constituted the borrowed dress at her once more and imploring her to just, “Put eet on, _ maintenant _ .”

Hermione snatched the scrap from the woman's hands and held it up to herself once more. As she was now clothed only in her underwear and a thin tank, she quickly stripped the rest of the way out of the chemise and slid the smooth fabric of the dress over her head to make herself decent once again (though even in a state of deshabille, she was still at least as covered as Christelle). The Frenchwoman then thrust a pair of shoes at Hermione to match the dress, re-sizing them for her with her wand.

" _ Parfait _ ," she purred, then marched Hermione over to a tall, gilded looking glass. " _ Maintenant, regardes le miroir... _ "

It was certainly not something Hermione would ever have purchased for herself, but it was one of the few things Christelle had waved her face that did not expose large expanses of her breasts. In fact, the garment was a halter-style dress with three-quarter-length lace sleeves, black, and almost completely backless. It came to just about mid-thigh; Hermione found herself tugging at the hem of it, finally reaching for her wand to lengthen it. Sensing her intent, Christelle stopped her hand and silently shook her magnificent blonde head.

"Zis ees Paris," she justified in her thick accent, as though this were all the explanation needed. Perhaps it was.

Herself wearing a blush-colored dress with a plunging neckline that had to be held in place on her breasts with magic, Christelle was also soon ready.

When the witches emerged, Draco, Kassem, and Élodie were already in the foyer. Kassem was tempting Draco with some wine he claimed had been made at one of his Californian vineyards. Élodie, who apparently spoke about as much English as Christelle, was already holding her own glass of wine and smiling emptily. At their approach, her smile broadened and she held out her arms to Christelle, welcoming the other woman to her side. She was dressed comparatively conservatively in a berry-colored sheath dress.

Kassem appeared to have also found something suitable for Draco to change into. Despite the difference in the two wizards' builds, Draco had thrown on a somehow-perfectly tailored blazer over a sky-blue shirt and camel-colored pants. Hermione started a bit at the sight of him, as she had never seen him in anything remotely similar to jeans – and yet, here the wizard was, pulling them off as if he did it every day!

"Ladies, you are stunning tonight -  _ très belle _ ," Kassem told them, appreciatively eyeing all three of them.

_ I see what Draco means about him,  _ Hermione silently thought. She smiled politely back, crossing to Draco's side. Interestingly, Draco nearly seemed relieved by her action, while Kassem looked only amused.

Their host paused them a bit longer by pushing a glass of the Californian wine on Hermione, who accepted it somewhat reluctantly, but did not wish to be considered rude… it  _ was _ delicious… besides, Draco was already nearly finished with his…

“You look stunning,” he murmured to her as she sipped at her glass.

Hermione did not have time to respond, as Kassem was taking Christelle's arm on his left and Élodie's on his right, and exclaiming, " _ On y va _ !"

The streets were lined with trees planted every few meters, and the road was clearly well-maintained. It was chilly out, and though Hermione was grateful they had cast warming charms on themselves, the January air was crisp enough that her bare legs were still glad of it when they finally were sheltered from the elements.

The bar Kassem led them to had the distinct aura of a speakeasy, hidden away from the public. It was also very clearly a wizarding establishment, as not only wizards and witches were patrons, but also it seemed, were goblins. A group of them sat in a hazy corner, smoking pipes that emitted different colorful smokes.

No one, it seemed, needed to be told who Kassem was – though Hermione still was not entirely sure, herself. They sat and were served immediately, despite the crowd at the bar… and though she had most certainly not ordered anything for herself, a drink was promptly placed in front of her before she had even finished looking around the place.

She took a polite sip when she realized the others had done the same, mentally grumbling about the perils of peer pressure. The drink was fruity, but not too sweet, and did not taste of alcohol in the slightest, so she quickly perked up.

Their small party was soon assailed by another group of mainly wizards, who began chatting and laughing in French. Hermione smiled emptily at them, feeling rather like Christelle and Élodie looked - though both women were holding their own in  _ this _ conversation just fine. She grumpily sipped at her drink again.

Leaning in toward her, Draco warned, "You'll want to be careful with that drink."

"What? Why?"

"If I know Kassem, there is quite a lot of alcohol in it although it won't taste of it."

Glancing down at the drink, she was horrified to discover she had already drank half of it.  _ For Agrippa's sake…  _ She was really beginning to become quite annoyed with Kassem.

_ I wonder what Harry and Ron would say if they learned I had snuck out of school to go drinking in Paris…  _ Her scowl wavered in amusement.

They did not stay long at the bar. Once Kassem finished his socializing with the French wizards, he downed his drink and was itching to move on. Glad to leave the bar - and her beverage - behind, Hermione was ready to follow.

As they headed for the door, she whispered to Draco, "Aren't we going to pay?"

He chuckled, but only until he realized she was serious. "Of course not. They will bill him later."

He said it so confidently that Hermione left the idea alone without any further probing.

They ended up in another bar, though this one was much rowdier than the first. Kassem swept them over to a pool table that miraculously became free just as they entered, despite the press of people inside. Yet again, a barista was almost instantly serving them drinks, in spite of the throng.

Kassem challenged Draco to a game of wizard's pool; a crowd of onlookers, admirers, and brown-nosers quickly formed to watch. Ignoring these intruders, Hermione looked on with interest, and discovered that wizard's pool was remarkably similar to its Muggle counterpart, but for the fact that a spell from one's wand was used instead of a pool stick, and there was the possibility that one of the balls might suddenly erupt into flames, sending the whole game into chaos. Balls also occasionally flew up back out of their nets of their own volition, which made keeping score an interesting feat.

Though Draco beat Kassem by a hair's breadth, their host did not seem put out in the slightest. They finished their drinks and left for another location.

It was like that the entire evening. Hermione began to wonder exactly how many wizarding nightlife establishments there were in Paris, when Kassem put them on their guard by announcing that their next location would take them briefly into a Muggle sector.

As they turned onto Rue de Montmorency, a spark of recognition flashed into Hermione's mind. She probed Draco, "Isn't this road the one where Nicholas Flamel originally practiced his alchemy?"

Seemingly impervious to whispers, Kassem answered instead. "You are correct,  _ madame _ . The famous alchemist set up a bookshop in what is now the oldest stone house in Paris. The main part of it is now a restaurant for Muggles, I'm afraid – but the building holds a few secrets yet. In fact, that is where we are headed."

It was an ordinary side-street, narrow enough so that only one car might fit down it. There were a few Muggles in street clothes standing out front the restaurant and smoking cigarettes.

"We will have to wait for them to go inside," Kassem murmured to Draco. Draco brushed aside some of the platinum hair that had fallen into his face and strode confidently up to the Muggle men to bum a smoke.

Hermione scowled as she watched him puff at the cigarette but said nothing, keeping her distance from the smoke and wrinkling her nose. Kassem, Christelle, and Élodie looked merely amused at his interaction with the Muggles.

"What an effect you have had on my friend," Kassem mentioned to her quietly.

Feeling somewhat cold toward the man for the moment, she only replied, "I can't imagine what you mean."

"I recognized your name when Malfoy introduced you. You are the famous Muggle-born heroine that fought alongside Harry Potter last spring?"

"Harry is my best friend," she answered with rather more vim than was necessary. Her heart immediately blossomed with pride for Harry, as it always did whenever someone mentioned his greatest feat. "I was happy to help him in any way I could to bring down that monster."

“One does wonder what can so highly recommend a witch to the only heir of such a vast and wealthy estate as the Malfoys have,” Kassem mused, considering her like a thoroughbred at a racetrack. "Especially – forgive me – considering your blood."

Hermione fixed him with a cold stare.  _ Did I really sneak out of Hogwarts so I could be further prejudiced against? _

Possibly sensing her line of thought, he amended, "I don’t speak to my own views - it’s no secret that the Malfoys have always valued blood purity. To them, I imagine it is something of a morganatic marriage."

"It is meant to be a secret,” she reminded him plainly.

"Another puzzle I cannot wrap my head around. For what wizard, in being wed to yourself, could bear to keep you a secret?"

The moment the compliment sunk in, she could feel herself coloring red. She was grateful when Draco returned from his smoke, though she could not help but look up at him reproachfully.

"I couldn't help it," he whined when he caught her expression. "I always smoke when I drink."

_ I could use a drink myself, just dealing with this Kassem character... _

Soon, the Muggles disappeared back into the restaurant, and the street outside  _ Auberge Nicholas Flamel  _ was deserted but for them. As if on cue, Élodie casually leaned against one of the wrought iron lanterns that decorated the outside of the restaurant. A chunk of the stone building seemed to melt away from the outside, revealing an inauspicious entryway.

Hurrying in alongside Draco, Hermione's eyes widened when they came into the foyer of what looked like a pre-Renaissance tavern. Though both the other witches went on ahead to take a place nearby the bar where many other fashionable-looking folk were already assembled, Hermione hung back, tugging on the hem of her borrowed dress and wishing again that it was longer.

"Everything alright?" Draco queried, stopping beside her.

"I just feel so out-of-place," she self-consciously whispered back.

"The trick is to exude the confidence that you belong somewhere; others will pick up on it and you will feel a part of a place in no time at all."

She thought back to her botched attempt to break into Gringotts disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange; she had not felt particularly confident then, either. "I see."

"And," he added, taking her hand to lead her over toward the others, "you look beautiful."

"The dress is Christelle's. It's rather… short."

"No one is looking at the dress, but rather at the magnificent witch wearing it… and you've chosen black, the perfect option."

She snorted, "I know how much you Slytherins like black."

"Black is the color of celebration, the color of nights that never end," he told her wisely as they approached the bar. "Have a drink. I will not let you make a fool of yourself."

Somehow, he had sensed the secret fear that she was not even aware of herself. Trusting him and hoping it was the correct decision, she accepted a drink passed to her by Christelle and even took a sip. She was soon comfortable enough to be on speaking terms with Kassem again.

A little while later, their host gave his name at the bar and the five of them were admitted through a curtain of beads and gauzy material that led down a winding set of stairs. They ended up in a dimly lit, underground chamber with lanterns and candles floating throughout. A large chandelier made of extravagant metalwork hung from the ceiling in the middle, giving off a reddish light. The room was filled with smoke and exotic scents.

More curious than apprehensive now that alcohol had loosened her inhibitions somewhat, Hermione tried to look everywhere at once. There were a few other inhabitants circled around tables, some sitting on pillows or carpets on the floor, others lounging on low stools or couches. One group was laughing intimately amongst one another, seemingly in their own private bubble as they drank tea or wine, snacked on cheeses or pastries, and smoked shisha. Light music was softly blanketing the hum of whispers.

"Have you ever enjoyed a hookah before, Hermione?" Kassem queried as he claimed one of the small round tables for their group. He looked quite at home on one of the carpets on the floor; their hostess began heating up the narghile in the center of the table for them, packing it with a fruity-smelling substance that did not seem altogether unpleasant.

Draco looked as if he were about to burst out laughing at the suggestion. Aloud, he only advised his friend, "Don't push her."

"Actually, I'd like to try it."

She did, to Draco's obvious astonishment. Accepting the hose, she tried to copy what she had seen Christelle, Kassem, Élodie, and Draco do only moments ago. She coughed heartily the first time and had to receive instruction on how to continue indulging, though her head was already lightened by the activity. To her own surprise, Hermione found she enjoyed the lightweight feeling that coursed through her body, though she did not care much for the taste.

They were soon relaxed, sipping at wine and snacking on jellies and cheese. How long the five of them stayed there, Hermione did not know, but it seemed an age later that her brain eventually floated back down into her body. Christelle was nestled up against her side, nearly comatose.

"Where are we going next?" she wanted to know, sitting up and breaking the lull that had fallen over them.

Draco's cheeks were flushed with carefree excitement as he, too, sat up on his cushion. His face alight, he echoed, "Yes, where next?"

Kassem emitted his booming laugh, causing Christelle to sit up straight. The blonde woman did not quite look as if she had all her faculties together any longer; Hermione had to help her to stand.

" _ Merci _ ," she whispered with a dazzling smile.

"To  _ La Maison du Hasard _ ," Kassem announced. "They've got some of the highest-risk betting tables in Europe."

His friend frowned, "Never heard of them."

"You wouldn't have. The doors haven't even been open for eight months."

A smile cracked onto Draco's face, slowly at first, "Why do I get the impression you've got some money to win back?"

Kassem roared with laughter and he slung an arm around Élodie, who was tipsily sipping at the last of her drink.

When she stood, Hermione wondered if she had not made a mistake in suggesting they move on so quickly, as her head was still light from her combined indulgences. One moment she was taking Draco's arm to keep herself from stumbling and marveling at how he could keep himself upright, the next they were outside and walking… somewhere. Soon enough, they were back into a wizarding part of town and descending into an underground cavern-like place, like what she had heard of the famed catacombs of Paris.

Moments later, the five of them were inside a clean, but somewhat rough-looking establishment and somehow or other, another drink had appeared in Hermione's hand. It occurred to her as she tried to make sense of the blurred vision that was the betting table Kassem was currently challenging, that she might be a little drunk. She had never been drunk before.

"Charafeddine, fancy seeing you around here again… so soon," murmured a low voice behind them.

It took a moment for Hermione to realize that someone was addressing Kassem by his surname. She turned to see who the speaker was - and came face-to-face with Gregory Goyle. If she was startled to see him there, it was nothing to his reaction on next spotting Draco.

"M-Malfoy?" he stuttered, all his initial confident bravado vanishing in an instant.

"Goyle," he acknowledged quietly, sticking out a hand.

_ A cold greeting, considering how close they used to be _ , Hermione observed lucidly.

Goyle took the offered hand and shook it slowly, "It's good to see you."

He seemed to mean it, too. Draco queried, "What are you doing here?"

"I own this place," he explained with a gesture to the rest of the hall. "I opened it after the war ended. Needed to get out of England…"

Draco's gray-blue eyes flashed with something scarily close to understanding. "Have a drink with us?"

"Gladly," Goyle agreed.

He was looking well: less portly than he had during his Hogwarts days, more fit, though his prominent brow continued to give him an unfortunate likeness to a neanderthal. As Goyle motioned to a nearby server to bring drinks to their party, he caught sight of Hermione on Draco's arm for the first time, and visibly started.

Missing nothing, Draco amended, "Ah, yes… Goyle, you remember Hermione Granger?"

It was a tense moment. For a second, Hermione was racing against death on a broomstick over a sea of Fiendfyre… straining for the broom to go  _ just a bit faster _ toward the exit of the Room of Requirement… finally tumbling down into the safety of the stone of the Hogwarts hallway beyond… Harry, Ron, Draco, and Goyle were all tumbling to safety along with her…

But again, she was back in  _ La Maison du Hasard _ , surrounded by loud voices, laughter, some smoke, the smell of alcohol, the sound of large sums of money being wagered by boisterous strangers… and Gregory Goyle was staring at her, blinking stupidly in the same simple way he always had whenever a teacher had asked him a question in class.

She glanced up at Draco and became suddenly very aware of her arm looped around his. Disentangling herself, she reached a hand out toward Goyle and neutrally intoned, "Pleasure."

Unable to mask his surprise, Goyle hesitated before taking it and giving it a small shake, letting go rather quickly. He again looked up at Draco with questions slowly filling his beady eyes.

Their drinks arrived at the same moment Kassem won a hefty bet at the nearby table. Sensing the two former friends had some need for a moment of privacy, Hermione excused herself in favor of watching the American make another weighty bet on a majority cut of a deck of cards. She was soon glad she had given them space, as Draco and Goyle were quickly deep in a low conversation; she supposed they had a lot to catch up on.

Élodie was giving Christelle a shoulder massage, while Kassem was persuading the other bettor who had lost all his money to have just one more go. Hermione sipped her drink, trying to remain unnoticed.

"You must be English," a man murmured in her ear familiarly, "one sees it immediately."

Hermione turned to face the man in question and was met with a face she did not recognize. "Do I know you?"

"Of course not. But I would certainly like to get to know  _ you _ a little better…"

She wrinkled her nose at the man's breath, "No thanks."

"Ah, don't be that way, sweetheart."

But before she could put the stranger in his place, Draco was at her side and pointedly repeating, "She said ‘no thanks’."

The man took a step back, "Easy, blondie. I didn't realize she was spoken for…"

"Well, now you do," Draco growled menacingly, even as he snaked an arm around her waist, "and you can leave."

Without another word, the man and his horrid breath were gone. Hermione sighed, "Thank Merlin. I thought I was going to have to hex him. Where did Goyle go?"

"He had some business," Draco grit out, his eyes still following the offending stranger, who was already well across the room.

"Ah,  _ malchance _ !" Kassem groaned. His luck had run out, and his opponent was grinning from ear to ear while sweeping Kassem's entire stack of galleons toward himself.

"You're an idiot, you know?" Draco nettled his friend. "Betting your entire sum on a cut of the cards..."

"Lady luck, it appears, was not on my side," he sighed. "Where next?"

"Where next?" Draco echoed incredulously, his arm still wrapped protectively around Hermione's waist. She was leaning into him gratefully, feeling exhausted. "It's after three in the morning, you animal."

"So it is," Kassem remarked with polite surprise as he glanced at his pocket-watch.

Hermione was astounded.  _ Three… in the morning?  _

Despite this, the quintet next found themselves out front of Kassem's house on a private section of beach at the Paris-Plage, an artificially created beach on the Seine. Somehow – Hermione supposed they must have used magic – they had made a bonfire. There was a half-empty glass of champagne in her hand, though she did not remember taking it.

A glass (or two?) later, her sentient thoughts began to become somewhat blurry and disjointed...

Hermione's champagne was gone and Christelle was showing her how to use her wand as a sparkler. The language barrier now unimportant after so much imbibing, the girls chased one another across the sand, occasionally stumbling until they fell into a pile, laughing and giggling as if they had known one another their whole lives.

Soon, Hermione's shoes were gone and she was accepting a gold-plated bottle of prosecco that was being passed around between the five of them.

Afterward, she began teaching Christelle how to make bubbles with magic… the young women were blowing on the tips of their wands and watching the soft, iridescent spheres float gently into the sky, meandering away until they were out of sight…

Kassem was passing out cigars. Unable to recall why she abhorred them so, Hermione actually tried it when Draco offered her a puff of his… his hands were soft, but at the same time like electricity as they touched her, teaching her to pull the smoke from the cigar into her mouth, but not to inhale it...

…Somehow, Élodie had become topless and Kassem was pouring the remainder of the prosecco onto her breasts, greedily lapping it off…

That was one of the last things Hermione remembered for sure before things became true fragments. Time was behaving surreally, as if it were being conducted in a series of movie clips.

…She was with Draco and they were running haphazardly across the small stretch of beach toward Kassem's house when she stumbled and fell, laughing heartily as Draco attempted to pull her back up and nearly tumbling over himself…

…They were both breathless as they climbed the stairs up to… somewhere. Hermione was not entirely sure where, but she could not stop giggling and the world was spinning…

…She had backed Draco against a wall and was kissing him sloppily… his lips only broke away from hers to press open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulders as he fumbled with the ties behind her neck for the top of her dress…

…She was naked from the waist up, the top half of her dress having fallen forward, and her breasts were free, nipples pebbling in their sudden exposure before she cried out as Draco took one into his mouth…

…The next moment she was on her back on a soft bed with her borrowed dress pushed up to her waist. She was basically naked now and Draco's platinum head was buried between her thighs as she cried out in pleasure…

…There was the experience of a spectacular orgasm, borne of complete lack of inhibition. Hermione swore she saw fireworks on the insides of her eyelids while a full-body high seemed to deflate her within her own skin. When she opened her eyes, the bedroom was mainly dark but for the moon and the lights of the city shining through the window. Draco was reclining on the sheets next to her, naked except for his underwear… he gazed at her through half-lidded eyes, smoldering with desire…

…She was licking down his stomach and could feel his abdominals tightening with anticipation…

…Faced with his erection, she found she was eager for him. Her mouth was ready and willing to be full with his manhood and she was soon bobbing up and down on him. She sucked, licked, and swallowed around his ready length…

…One hand was twisted into her hair and another was clenched into a fist around the bedsheets. His eyes were squeezed shut as he grew harder. With a roar, he pulled himself from her mouth and released onto her chest and neck in great, creamy spurts that left threads of heat on her skin...

...He was kissing her deeply once more, as though determined to take everything from her, even though they had both already found their completion…

They must have fallen asleep in that way, because her awareness ebbed away entirely after that and she knew nothing more...

.

.

Hermione awoke the next morning with a fuzziness in the front of her brain that she could not shake away. Light was filtering in from a window somewhere, and when she sat up, she realized she was essentially naked but for the bed-sheet twisted about her legs and torso, and last night's dress pooled around her waist.

Head aching, she forced both her eyes open and was beset with the image of a completely naked Draco Malfoy, sprawled across the majority of the bed. Despite that all the lean beauty of youth was on his side, the fact that he was arse-up, with his hair tousled beyond recognition, and his cheek pressed against the mattress so that his mouth was hanging open, did not make for a very graceful picture.

" _ Ungh _ ," eked out of her mouth as she clutched her head. Her eyes were very sensitive to the light and there was a terrible taste in her mouth like she had licked one of the turnstiles in King's Cross Station. She decided, "Coffee."

She could not find her clothes, so she  _ accio _ 'd them with her wand, which took two tries. Her uniform shirt and skirt were crumpled from the spending the night on Christelle's bedroom floor, but there was not much helping that now; she pressed them as best she could and dressed, leaving off the sweater emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest that went over her blouse. The small vial of Veritaserum they had originally come for was still safely tucked into her robes pocket.

Though she was able to find her way into the kitchen without much trouble, she stopped short at the door and stifled an exclamation. Kassem, Christelle, and Élodie were all sprawled naked on the kitchen floor in a tangled heap. It would have looked as if they had been simultaneously knocked out by some rogue if not for the fact that all three were covered all over in whipped cream, chocolate, and fruit.

"Better rethink that," she murmured to herself, backing quickly out of the kitchen.

After a moment's reflection, she vaguely recalled a small coffee shop they had passed the previous night, which was barely a block away. Resolved, she double-checked that she had her wand before leaving to fetch a coffee for both herself and Draco.

Lost in thought and inwardly blushing as she pieced together all she had got up to the previous evening, she nearly walked by the little café. Once inside, she was relieved when the girl behind the counter spoke enough English for her to place an order – but she was immediately embarrassed when she realized she had taken no money to pay.

"Allow me." Before she knew it, a middle-aged gentleman with a curious accent was passing some wizarding money across the counter and the barista was handing over two coffees.

"Thank you," she stammered. "That was very generous!"

" _ C'est rien _ ," the man waved her words away. "You are - if I am not mistaken - the heroine of Britain, yes? Miss Hermione Granger?"

He had butchered her first name, but as the man had also paid for her coffees, Hermione did not feel it was polite to correct him, "Yes… yes, I am. Do I know you?"

"Ah,  _ non _ . But I pay attention to the news across the world. Perhaps… I wonder… do you have a moment to sit?"

Though she really had just wanted to get back to Kassem's house, she also did not want to be rude. The man seemed harmless enough, in any case. He gestured to a table and she sat, gratefully clutching her hot cup of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Louna from the Strictly Dramione Facebook page, for helping me out with the French in this chapter, so I don't look like a fool! Also to ForHeavensSake, who pointed out that the Honeydukes passage is maybe not the best access for Hermione to have chosen to get into Hogsmeade. As it isn't really an important plot point, I've left it, but I appreciate it when someone points out some cracked thing I've written. It happens - and gentle concrit is honestly treasure. Lastly, to you - if you've been one of the many who have graciously supported my inane ramblings. Thank you.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	54. Like A Whisper

****When Draco first woke, he was alone. The mid-morning sunlight was streaming through the bay window in a direct beam onto his face, cementing in place the massive headache that was already percolating behind his eyes and above the back of his neck. He sat up, groaned, and rubbed at his sleep-coated eyes, which only made the headache worse. His bones were on fire near every joint and he supposed the pain potion he had taken prior to going out had finally wore off. His arthritis was certainly back with vigor.

It was a few moments before the scattered pieces of his memories from the last 24 hours slotted back into place.

_Hermione…_

She was not in the guest room – but the dress she had worn the previous evening was, which proved that his fuzzy concepts of their tryst had also actually occurred. Not that he had really wondered… he could still taste her on his lips.

By the time he dressed, made his way to the loo, and located some hangover potion in Kassem's store cupboard, he had begun to feel a little better. His eyes were tired; he fished his glasses out of the pocket of his robes and put them on, just to have some respite until his headache had dissipated.

He did not begin worrying about Hermione's absence until the others could not locate her either.

"Perhaps she went out?" Kassem suggested, trying to be helpful. He had taken three doses of hangover potion and was still slumped over his kitchen table, half-dressed and looking as if he had been hit head-on by the Knight Bus.

"Without telling anyone?" Draco worried quietly.

.

.

If he had hoped they would quickly find Hermione and discover that her absence had arisen from a misunderstanding of sorts, Draco was disappointed.

"Would she have returned to Scotland without you?" Kassem queried. He was looking a good deal more human after having ingested two espressos.

"I don't know." It was the truth - he didn't.

They searched the few blocks of wizarding Paris where Kassem lived for the better part of two hours, but came up empty-handed until they stopped into a small coffee shop. The barista – looking frazzled at the end of her shift – informed them that an English-speaking young witch had stopped in hours earlier and that an older wizard had paid for her coffee.

"Did they stay?" Kassem questioned the woman.

"For a bit," she maintained, struggling somewhat to remember. "They left together, I think."

_An older wizard that she left with? Hermione doesn't know anyone in Paris, surely…_

Frustrated and feeling that they were getting nowhere, Draco wished he had Theo with him. Nott might be a prat to deal with at times, but at least he could have used his newfound Sight to help locate Hermione. He did not like the idea of her fraternizing with a stranger one bit.

"Do you know the man? Does he frequent this shop at all?" Kassem was pressing the barista, flashing his signature devil-may-care smile at her. It seemed to be working.

Smoothing out her hair, the barista smiled back, her eyes locking into Kassem's. "I've seen him before, but I wouldn't say he's here often. His name is Germain and he takes his coffee black. That's all I know."

 _I need Theo,_ Draco decided firmly. Maybe it was paranoid of him - but it was uncharacteristic of her. _No more wasting time if Hermione's in any serious trouble._

.

.

As it was a Hogsmeade weekend, the village was teeming with Hogwarts students. Draco's headache had gone by now, but his arthritis was continuing to flare up with a vengeance. Picking his way amongst the throng, he had only one goal in mind: find Theo. Nott's abilities would certainly be useful in at least determining that Hermione was safe, but hopefully also in locating her.

 _Think_ , he told himself. _If you were Theo, where would you be?_

Critically, he broke down his options, and concluded that Nott was most likely smoking a cigarette somewhere on the outskirts of the village. He headed in a generally northern direction, toward the school.

By sheer luck, he had been correct. Partially off the beaten path where it left the grounds of the school and entered Hogsmeade, he found Theo smoking with Blaise.

"Malfoy," Zabini greeted upon spotting him.

"Well, look what the kneazle dragged in," Nott teased, fumbling with his pack of cigarettes and offering him one. "Smoke?"

He was so stressed about Hermione that he took one. Blaise lit it for him with a snap of his silver lighter. He could almost hear Hermione's voice chastising him as he breathed in his first lungfuls of smoke.

"Your bed was empty last night," Zabini remarked, eyeing him interestedly.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped unconvincingly.

"And since when do you wear glasses?"

He had forgotten he was wearing them. It was something he did not like to do when others were present – except Hermione, who seemed to like the way he looked in them. Ripping them from his face, he stuffed them angrily into the pocket of his robes and offered Blaise no reply.

Theo turned to Blaise, "Weren't you just saying you were going to meet up with Sue Li?"

Zabini shrugged, his dark eyes still calculating Draco. With apprehension flickering in the forefront of his brain however, Draco could not be bothered to worry about what might be running through Blaise’s head. _Where could she be?_ What if she had been kidnapped, raped, or killed? How could he live with himself…?

It was a mercy when Blaise finally left, presumably to go meet up with this month's paramour. The moment he was out of sight, Draco turned to Theo. "I need your help."

Sucking in the last of his cigarette, Nott probed, "Oh?"

"You remember Kassem Charafeddine?"

"That filthy rich American whose father used to socialize with yours?"

Draco nodded. "Hermione and I met up with him last night and spent the night in Paris. She was with me when I fell asleep – stop wiggling your eyebrows, you twat – but when I woke up, she was gone. She didn't tell any of us where she was going, nor did she leave a note…"

"…And you want me to See where she is," Theo inferred, stomping out his spent cigarette. "No problem."

Despite the imminent answer that must be forthcoming, Draco felt on edge. _Please be safe,_ he silently prayed.

"Well, she's not at Hogwarts," Theo informed him. "In fact, she's still in Paris. She met up with…"

But here, he paused. A frown darkened his brow.

"What?" Draco demanded impatiently.

"Sorry, Draco. I can't interfere too much with this one. If I tell you where she is, it will change both your futures for the worse…"

"Is she _safe_?"

"Seems to be. Perhaps a bit hungover – but she's alive, not trussed up in someone's basement... nor is some bloke shoving his body parts in places they don't belong…"

Draco closed his eyes, "Did you have to be quite so graphic?"

"She's _fine_ , you prat."

"Then why did she leave without saying anything first?"

He paused. "You need to take that up with her."

"I need you to help me _find_ her!"

"I can't," Theo insisted, taking a step backward.

"Why not?" Draco demanded.

"If I help you, she ends up with someone else other than you."

Stunned, Draco blinked at this new information. "How?"

Theo only shrugged noncommittally, his eyes cast down at the cigarette he had crushed into the ground.

"Then I'll have to head back to Paris and look, myself."

"You can't do that either. Not right away. There's something here which you have to do first."

After a few moments of brainstorming possible solutions, Draco had an epiphany that came like a sack full of stones to his gut. With horrifying clarity, he realized, "I _know_ what I have to do."

"What's that?"

"I need Potter."

Theo stared at Draco as if he had just declared his intent to begin a career in children's puppeteering. "You can't be serious…"

He cringed, "Unfortunately, I have never been more so. Where is he?"

Theo closed his eyes, then answered, "Slytherin common room."

Draco's lip curled; of course the Boy Wonder would be presiding over his own former home base for this confrontation…

"I'll need the password."

"But we don't have it," Nott lamented.

"Look into the past and get it!"

Theo gaped, "Never thought of that before. I am going to get into _so_ much trouble from here on out… and it's _Sanctus Pur_ this month, before you go ballistic on me."

_Santus Pur… the holy purity…_

Draco had nearly forgotten the Slytherin passwords had tended in the direction of the elitist mindset. It seemed so backward now, so ridiculous. Had he really ascribed to that way of thinking, once? Had his parents really cared about lineage to the point that they were willing to condone murder? Had Hermione really once been forbidden to him – was still forbidden, in some circles – to the point that their marriage was considered disgraceful?

_You're married over ninety years and she gives you three kids._

Damn him if that didn't sound enticing… in fact, he was patently sure that nothing else would suffice for him, now that he knew it was an option.

Like the snap of his fingers, he knew: it was too late for him. She was the one.

Draco Malfoy was in love.

.

.

Armed with the password, gaining admittance to the Slytherin commons was laughably easy. As the cellar wall melted away before his eyes and the common room was revealed, Draco was assaulted by a curious wave of both nostalgia and repugnance. His mind briefly went to war with itself and the victor declared that he really much preferred the midnight blue and airy, vaulted ceilings of Ravenclaw Tower. It was so much more welcoming, more elysian.

Here, there were snakes.

Collecting his presence of mind, he drew himself up and swaggered into the room as if he owned the place. Bathed in the emerald glow that dominated the common area, he tried to ignore the queer sensation that had begun turning in his gut.

Physically, the place was just as he remembered it: the roaring fire in the enormous hearth of indomitable black marble… the enormous glass cloches that rose to the ceiling exhibiting a collection of ancient human skulls… power, supercilious pride both in evidence. But there was something different, something new about the aura of the place…

In the center of the room, an older Slytherin was teaching a younger student to cast a certain spell, while a couple of fifth years shared a gentle kiss in the far corner. Meanwhile, several boys from different years were having a meeting at one of the round tables - upon a second look, they appeared to actually comprise a fantasy Quidditch league. Such displays of friendship and intimacy were never conducted so openly during Draco's memory of being in Slytherin. In fact, even when he had dated Parkinson, who was by all accounts a simpering, clingy sort of girl…

 _No_ , he mentally stopped himself. There was no use harping over the past. What was done, was done – and now, Hermione was missing… and somehow, wife or not, she had become multitudes more dear to him than Parkinson ever could have been, because he cared for her with an entirely different sort of affection…

He closed his eyes. For a moment he would swear he could feel her: the faint scent of jasmine, the inexplicable energy of her mind racing a million miles a minute, the soft brush of her fingertips tracing his jawline before a kiss…

He had to find Potter.

The presence of Draco Malfoy in the Slytherin common room went unnoticed for barely eight seconds and soon caused a minor stir amongst the inhabitants. Doing his best to ignore the stares of his peers, he quickly spotted Potter and made his way over toward the far lounge area, where the wizard in question was discussing tactics with two members of the new Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Hufflepuff will play Ravenclaw in the next match," one of the Chasers - Simmons - was observing as he pushed his glasses up his nose. "They have very different strategies... though I don't fancy going up against the Esposito twins again."

"Ravenclaw is better though," decided Chaudhary, their Keeper. She was plaiting her long hair nonchalantly as she spoke, "Make no mistake, we'll be playing eagles in the finals."

Potter looked as if he were about to respond with a comment of his own, when he looked up, only to have his eyes land on Draco. An expression of melded confusion and consternation immediately plastered itself onto his face. "Malfoy?"

Both Simmons and Chaudhary also turned to look.

"Potter," he echoed, mindful that he had very few sympathizers in the new Slytherin. Politely as he could muster, despite that he really just wanted to hex the specky git in his face, he requested, "Can I speak to you privately?"

"Sure," the wizard obliged, blinking slowly. "Dormitory might be free."

Neither Simmons or Chaudhary made a comment, but their mutual expressions of distaste spoke for them.

Only Dean Thomas was inside when the boys entered. Though his face remained neutral at Harry's entrance, it quickly morphed into confusion when he took note of his companion.

"Mind giving us a minute, Dean?"

"Sure thing," the other Slytherin murmured, taking his book and crossing the long room toward the exit, his eyes flickering suspiciously at Draco the entire time.

Once they were alone, Potter cast a _muffliato_ on the door and crossed his arms. "Well?"

His mouth went suddenly dry. "I need your help."

Potter only looked nonplussed.

"Hermione is missing."

Suddenly concerned, the Boy Who Lived uncrossed his arms. "For how long?"

"Since this morning."

"I noticed she wasn't at breakfast," he observed, crossing the room to his trunk, where he threw open the lid and began rummaging around for something inside.

Draco noted with interest that he had chosen the bed closest to the door, despite it being on the lowest platform. After a quick moment – Potter's trunk was a total mess – the wizard emerged with a folded bit of old parchment.

"What are you doing?"

"Seeing where Hermione is."

"Are you going to try using that map?" Draco questioned. Despite his curiosity, some disdain had crept back into his voice - a natural occurrence that came from dealing with anything Potter-related.

Harry shot him a look. "Yes, Malfoy. It's going to help me find Hermione."

Recalling Theo's reveal that Hermione was still in Paris, he insisted, "That map is not going to help you. She's not at Hogwarts."

"How do you know? Have you checked everywhere? The library?"

"What kind of imbecile do you take me for?" Draco snapped.

Harry's hands paused in unfolding the parchment and slowly, he looked up at Draco. "What do you know, Malfoy? Where is she?"

"She's in France. Paris to be exact."

Eyes narrowed, he pressed, "Did she go there with _you_?"

Draco nodded.

"Why?"

Draco avoided looking at Harry. He had not thought about how he was going to handle this yet. He had always assumed Hermione would be the one explaining this part to her friends: "Oh, by the way I married Draco Malfoy…" while he smirked like a smug bastard and put an arm around her waist, and Potter and Weasley gaped like fish out of water. He had never imagined he would have to tell them, himself.

He also knew that telling him was probably the only way he was going to get Harry Potter to trust him right now. Managing a wan smile, he said, "Because Hermione... is now my wife."

Like the dropping of a bomb, there was a very pure silence following that statement. Harry only stared.

"Are you going to say something, Potter?” he sneered. “If you keep staring like that, I'm going to start thinking you're disappointed that I'm spoken for."

Unsticking his throat, Harry coughed out, "What do you want me to say? Hermione told me once that marrying you was one of her options in eventually breaking herself free of you..."

Draco inwardly flinched at the words ‘free of you’. "New Years' Eve. We tied the knot at the Ministry. There was a statute of secrecy on the contract."

"Almost a month ago..." Potter interpreted. Initially surprised, the expression on his face quickly morphed into hurt. "Why didn't she tell us?"

"You'll have to take that up with her... if we find her."

"Right.” Eyebrows contracting for a moment, it was all at once that his face cleared. “We need to get Ron."

"We _don't_ need..." Draco began.

"We're a package deal, Malfoy," Harry interrupted irritably. "You can't have just me and Hermione, or even just Hermione. Ron comes as one-third of the bargain."

Chagrined, Draco supposed he should have known that this might happen, though it still grated on his nerves. "Fine," he mumbled, "whatever."

Unfolding the aged map in his hands, Potter pointed his wand tip into the center of the large parchment and intoned, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Draco supposed this must have been a password of some sort. A welcoming inscription sprawled across the front of the page:

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_   
_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_   
_are proud to present  
THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

Before his eyes unfurled one of the most magnificent things he had ever seen: every classroom, every hallway, down to every corner and nook of the castle was depicted. Every inch of the grounds, every secret passage was accounted for. Even more impressive was the colony of miniscule dots that blipped along these passages, hallways, classrooms, and nooks – and every last one was labeled with a person's name.

"Found him," Harry murmured, tapping his finger to the corresponding place on the map, "Hufflepuff common room... with Greengrass."

"That's some map, Potter…" Draco said lowly.

Harry paused to glance sidelong as his former nemesis, but said nothing other than, "Let's go." He placed his wand back into the center of the map and spoke, "Mischief managed."

The anatomy of the castle siphoned off the page, but not before Draco spotted his own small dot standing beside the one marked 'Harry Potter' in the Slytherin boys' dormitory. It struck him in that moment, that he really had surrendered to the idea of keeping Hermione a long time ago. There really was no other explanation for how calm he was with what was currently happening to him.

The boys' walk to the Hufflepuff common room was awkward enough.

"You're one lucky arsehole, Malfoy, you know?"

Draco's eye twitched at the insolent tone of voice in which Potter relayed that thought, though he kept himself from spitting out a repartee.

"All the mistakes you've made… and you still ended up with Hermione."

"I'm well aware of my own past, Potter. I don't need a history lesson."

Ignoring him, Harry pushed, "I just don't get it. Why would Hermione marry _you_?"

"Alchemy experiment gone awry," Draco bit out through clenched teeth. His knees and hips were still on fire with arthritis and his companion kept a brisk pace. At the same time, he tried to ignore the fact that the students they passed in the corridors had mostly stopped to stare at them as they walked. He supposed it had hardly been uncommon knowledge that the two wizards had constantly been at odds for all their previous years as school-mates.

Seemingly oblivious to the rubberneckers, Harry insisted, "We were going to help her find a way out."

"You sure you want to tell Weasley?" he drawled. "It might break his little badger heart."

"You don't really think Ron still has feelings for Hermione, do you?"

Draco shrugged.

"They weren't good together," Harry protested resolutely.

"It's what everyone expected to happen though, isn't it? Granger and Weasel-bee forever: the white picket fence, the house in the country with a dog and few cats, a herd of freckly, ginger children running around with hair that would make even the most patient saint barmy..."

"I… don't know what everyone expected," said Potter quietly. He was watching Draco very carefully and had even slowed his pace to match his companion's somewhat. "You told me once that you cared for her."

Draco was silent.

"Malfoy?"

He grit his teeth in annoyance.

"Draco?"

"Are we on a first-name basis now, Potter?"

"I don't know, should we be?"

"What does that even mean?"

"Are you planning on remaining in Hermione's life?"

What was he supposed to say to that? Of course it was what he would like best! But to tell Potter… that bespoke a certain something else. Almost like there was no turning back once he had uttered the words, come what may.

 _Yours_ , the ghost of her whisper misted into his mind, _for now._

 _Forever_ , his own grim reality pressured in return. _Nothing else will do._

The idea that she might be lost to him nearly broke him.

"What do you want me to say, Potter? That I turned out not to be the son and heir I was expected to be? That because of it, the seams of my reality unraveled, pulling at the threads of what held me together as an individual?" Harry's eyes became wide behind his glasses, but Draco had already begun his reply. "But then, there was Hermione... and like a whisper, she instinctively knew to lay her hands where I was healing… and all those fractured pieces became crevices, and the crevices became thin, white scars…"

The image of her mouth, her full lips creeping upward into a smile to match her ocher eyes sparkling with mirth, knifed through his mind. In fact, he had nearly forgotten about Potter entirely.

"Do you want me to say she made it somehow _okay_ that my ambitions in life were different from what was expected of me? That I _need_ her in my life? She's got scars, too, Potter – and yet, somehow she made me realize the type of man I want to be. I want to be the one that can unmake _her_ brokenness… turn it into something she barely remembers…"

His voice had gone quiet and a sinking feeling like he had just bared his bleeding heart to an enemy made his insides turn. But it was too late; he had committed himself.

"So ask me again, Potter… do I want to remain in Hermione's life?"

It took a few heartbeats for Harry to sort out the proper thing to say to such a speech. "I already knew you loved her."

Under his breath, Draco huffed, "Impossible."

Shaking his head, he insisted, "I knew because it was exactly what happened with Ginny: I loved her before I even knew I did."

They had arrived at the massive stack of barrels that marked the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. Apprehensive of the imminent future and feeling weak from his own admissions, Draco asseverated, "Let's just get one thing straight – this conversation did not take place."

"If you like," Harry shrugged, taking out his wand as he approached the oaken barrels. "But if you think that anything you said isn't already written all over your face for anyone to see, then you're in for a rude awakening. Come on… and better have your wand ready, just in case. Ron isn't going to take this very well at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading your comments are like finding a ready-made pile of autumn leaves to jump into. Amazing. Love you all so much.
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	55. Mirror On The Wall

**** "I  _ told _ her! I  _ told _ Hermione –  _ first day of classes _ – to have McGonagall switch her when she got paired with you for prefect duties, Malfoy! And  _ now _ look – shockingly, she's in trouble because of  _ you _ !"

"We don't know she's in trouble," Daphne pointed out rationally, "just that she's missing."

But Ron either did not hear his girlfriend, or did not deign to respond. He was too focused on raving at Draco: "Why they even let you back into Hogwarts in the first place, is beyond me! They should have thrown you in Azkaban with the rest of your bloody family and left you all to rot."

The four of them – Draco, Ron, Harry, and Daphne – were stationed in the corridor a short way away from the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. They had initially interrupted Weasley instructing Greengrass on some of the finer points of wizarding chess… but the board game was now entirely forgotten. The moment Potter had informed them that Draco and Hermione had been in Paris the previous night and that Hermione was now missing in the city, Weasley had imploded. Draco was merely grateful Potter had thought to cast a  _ muffliato _ on their part of the hallway before he broke the news.

Draco was clutching rather tightly at his wand in his robes pocket, but reminding himself not to use it. He focused on the sweet, sweet memory of Weasley burping up slugs in second year, after his botched attempt at a hex while using a broken wand. It was the saving grace that kept him from inflicting Ron with much worse, now. With an affected drawl, he posited, "Don't you just feel  _ grand _ about initiating this conversation, Potter?"

Harry only shrugged, "Not my fault you cocked up, Malfoy."

Sarcasm dripping from his voice like poison, he spat, "I'm sure you're positively  _ gleeful _ ... looking forward to adding the icing to the cake…"

But Harry only shrugged a second time.

Potter had told both Weasley and Greengrass about the circumstances leading up to Hermione's disappearance, but had not yet mentioned the secret marriage. In fact, Draco decided that it had been notably absent from his debriefing. As Draco had assumed it would be one of the first things mentioned, he had to wonder what Potter was about. Perhaps he did not want to bring it up in front of Greengrass.  _ Wise move. _

They allowed Weasley to fume a while longer. Meanwhile, Daphne outdid herself at spearing Draco with glances that were full of questions and calculations. They had explained the bare bones of the mandala accident to her, but he was sure there were holes in the story. He did not have any spare time or effort to cede to her silent wheedling however - he was too annoyed that they were wasting valuable moments waiting for Weasley's ears to stop being crimson with rage.

"I – just – don't – get –  _ why _ !" the red-haired wizard bit out. "Why would Hermione want to bother spending time with you? What the hell have you ever done for her? Insult her parentage, try to get her expelled, and then tangle her up in that alchemy… thing!"

"Very eloquent, Weasley," Draco drawled, pretending to examine his fingernails. "Have you finished carrying on?"

He kept waiting for Potter to mention that Hermione had opted to become a Malfoy without informing her two closest friends, but the words were never spoken… and he certainly was not going to do it himself. The other wizard's silence was loud in his own ears.

"Don't be jealous, dear," Daphne soothed, taking Ron's hand and patting it. "Hermione probably had good reasons, I'm sure."

"Jealous!" Weasley exploded. " _ Jealous _ ! Why would I be jealous of some pasty, inbred, lying moron?"

Dropping her boyfriend's hand, her soothing countenance abruptly slid from her face. "Enough!"

Both former-Gryffindors turned to look at Daphne, as if only really seeing her for the first time. Draco, on the other hand, already knew Greengrass was hiding a harpy deep within, and was unsurprised at the sudden change.

"You can't just…" Ron tried.

"Oh, but I can," she contradicted. "You are not being very mature about this, Ronald Weasley, and I can't help but observe that the one who is suffering most for it, is  _ Hermione _ ."

He spluttered a bit at this, but appeared to be unable to form anything coherent in response. Meanwhile, Potter watched, waiting.

Daphne turned to Draco. "What was your plan? Head back to Paris to look for her?"

"Yes."

"Well, then I suggest we discontinue this argument – which seems to be mainly based on past grievances – and sort out the present. Don't you agree, Harry?"

"I do," Potter jumped in. "We need a plan, though. The path to Hogsmeade is still open for a bit longer yet, but we need to have a strategy for what to do when we get off the grounds."

Ron was still muttering under his breath, but his eyes had become wide, and he continued to stare at Daphne incredulously.

"Once we're in the village, we could Apparate to the house my godfather left me in London," he continued. "It used to be the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix during the war, so I know the international Floo was set up at one point. It might still be working if no one thought to dismantle the connection before abandoning the place."

"Sounds like a solid plan," Draco interjected, "except Paris is a very big place, Potter. How do you expect to find Hermione once we're there?"

The other wizard clamped his mouth shut. It seemed his plan only went as far as getting them to the city, which was no help at all, as Draco had just been there, himself. It was too bad... when it appeared Potter had carefully laid out the beginnings of a basic plan of action, Draco had begun lauding himself for his presence of mind in approaching his former rival for help. Now he feared he had been premature, and his high hopes receded somewhat. Daphne was silently watching the group, waiting for one of them to come up with a further solution.

"There's a secret chamber in the kitchens," Weasley spoke up evenly. He had become somber at last, though his face was still mottled red with anger. "I found it by accident when I snuck in for a midnight snack once, when Mrs. Norris was prowling around outside. There's a mirror in there that will answer any question truthfully, or show any place. We could ask it where Hermione is."

" _ Really _ ?" Daphne queried, intrigued.

But Harry's brows had furrowed, "How long have you known about it?"

"Since just before Halloween, I think."

"Ron! And you kept it a  _ secret _ this  _ whole time _ ?"

_ Oh, how the tables have turned, _ Draco thought smugly.

.

.

The chamber Weasley had spoken of was accessed through the kitchens. Draco had never been there before, but Potter apparently had. He took off down the corridor a short way, abruptly turning down a nearby side-passage, with his companions trailing behind. Draco followed just quickly enough to witness Harry reaching up to stroke a painting of a bowl of fruit; the pear squirmed and laughed before transforming into a green doorknob.

The kitchens were enormous and high-ceilinged, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls and three wide, brick fireplaces at the far side. There were five tables identical to the ones in the Great Hall – and in the exact same position – presumably for ease of service. The place was teeming with house elves.

"Good afternoon, Mister Weezey, sir," one of the elves greeted with a curtsey. "You is here for snacks?"

"Not at the moment, Miffy," Ron answered. Then, looking thoughtful, he amended, "Though if you've got any of those lemon pastries, I wouldn't say no…"

The elf brightened and ran to fetch some.

Harry stared at Ron. "How can you think of your stomach at a time like this?"

"We don't know how long it's going to take to find Hermione," Ron defended as the little elf rushed back with a small platter full of a variety of desserts.

Draco grit his teeth. They were again wasting valuable time. Daphne noticed his discontent and wound her arm through his. Conspiratorially, she soothed, "I'm sure she's alright…"

"She had better be," he muttered back viciously.

"Ta, Miffy," Weasley thanked, looking pleased and stuffing an éclair in his mouth. "We need to visit the round room, too."

Laden with assorted pastries, the four of them were now being led by the little elf toward the back of the kitchens. Small alcoves were cut into the walls at regular intervals, leading to a pantry, a root cellar, a larder, and even a few spacious dormitories for the elves. Miffy brought them to the farthest corner, where the last alcove was little more than a shallow recess in the wall.

"Here we are!" Weasley announced, looking proud of himself.

Before them was only a blank stretch of wall. Draco was unamused.

"Ron," Harry began dubiously, "that's a wall.  _ Just _ a wall. There's no mirror."

"It's through the door," Ron insisted, gesticulating to the solid wall before them as he stuffed another pastry into his mouth. He swallowed with some difficulty.

His three companions looked nonplussed. Draco was beginning to seethe with anger, while Daphne and Harry appeared only skeptical.

Here, Miffy spoke up, "Your friends is not able to see the entrance to Miss Helga's round room, Mister Weezey. Only Hufflepuffs can find."

Potter bent down to speak directly to the elf. "Only Hufflepuffs can find it? What's inside?"

Unlike the other elves that had made up most of Draco's experience of the creatures, Miffy spoke frankly, "When Hogwarts is started years and years ago, Mistress Helga designed the kitchens. She bringed elves from bad homes and lets them work here. She has an office right here, but only members of her House can find it…"

_ A secret room belonging to Hufflepuff, _ Draco assessed, reflecting that Hogwarts really did hide a plethora of secrets.  _ Those bloody founders… _

Automatically, Harry commanded, "Open the door, Ron."

Weasley reached forward to grasp at what appeared to be thin air and pulled, hard. A section of the wall slowly peeled backward and Draco felt the last of his skepticism slipping away.

It was very different from Ravenclaw's chamber.

Completely circular, the room stopped just short of cluttered. Much of the furniture – all a light, honey-colored wood – had been rounded to fit along the walls. Every three feet was a porthole-like window, giving a curious feeling like they had stepped inside an enormous beehive. One window, slightly larger than the rest, had a crack in it which had clearly gone unmended for some time, because through the gap, golden hops curled into the room, heavy with buds waiting to be harvested.

The entire place was covered in various flora. Cacti had been planted in broken teacups, which lined a window sill; six-foot-tall sunflowers struggled to hold up their weighty heads in a large pot, which dwarfed the writing desk and shelf beside it. A modest bookshelf ( _ That would not even be close to adequate for Ravenclaw _ , Draco noticed) bore mostly recipe books and journals. The sunflowers had dropped a few wayward petals onto the stacks of curling parchment that littered the desk. A clay mug held down one such stack, while another was topped with a pair of small, reading glasses, and a used teaspoon which had left a brown stain on the parchment directly below.

As Draco stepped inside, he was accosted with a sudden, persistent feeling that he was trespassing on an unseen host's privacy.

"This... can't be real," Daphne gaped, her voice hushed. "I feel like I'm not supposed to be here."

"Nonsense," Ron protested. "It's cozy."

"I agree with Daphne," Harry put in quietly.

"If only Hufflepuffs can find it, it makes sense that a Slytherin and two Ravenclaws wouldn't be welcome," Draco deduced aloud. He wondered if Rowena's study worked in a similar manner.

A pair of muddy, dragon-hide work boots had dried beside a moderately-sized hearth. The sill displayed a bamboo plant, a couple of pewter goblets, a long, clay smoking pipe, and some glass jars full of chamomile and assorted dried beans. Someone had strung apple slices and whole cranberries across the front of the fireplace; these were wrinkled from preservation.

Displayed over the mantle of the simple brick hearth was a magnificent oval mirror bordered with ornate gold filigree, almost too magnificent for the rest of the room.

"The mirror answers questions or shows any place," Weasley repeated. He was polishing off another pastry as he spoke.

"How does it work?" Daphne queried. Her hand had come to rest on the back of a cozy-looking armchair near the fireplace, her fingers picking at a flyaway piece on a woolen cloak that was laid over the back of it. Some knitting was sitting, half-done, on the arm of the chair.

"Watch," Weasley instructed. The turned his attention to the looking glass, "Er, mirror?"

A small, stretched, imp-like face appeared in the glass, "What is thy bidding?"

" _ Woah _ !" Daphne effused, taking a sudden leap backward and nearly knocking over a small table that held a pitcher full of flowers and a variety of misshapen tomatoes.

Potter, on the other hand, took two steps forward. "We need to know where our friend is."

With a glib laziness, the ugly, little face in the looking glass smirked. "I can answer any question truthfully, also show you any place. The future is, for me, unforeseeable."

"Our friend is in France," Harry pressed. "Paris, to be more precise. We need to know her exact location."

" _ Your _ friend, hm? Looks to me as if she’s found a  _ new _ friend," the mirror remarked flippantly.

The face in the glass disappeared and was replaced briefly by a swirling mist until it settled on an image of Hermione sitting on an old-fashioned divan, a cup of tea resting precariously on her knee. She was gesticulating wildly as she tried to make a point about something or another, to someone. A blot of ink had smeared across her fingers and she was laden down with several pages of parchment that were covered in her own shorthand. On the opposite side of a coffee table, was an older wizard who appeared to possibly be in his early fifties. His face bore some lines and his black hair was streaked with gray, particularly over his ears. He was well dressed and sported a small, pointed goatee.

"At least we know she's alright," Daphne breathed, her eyes still wide as she gazed at the image in the mirror.

"Where is this place?" Harry demanded.

The mirror gave a long address in French.

Weasley blinked, "Er…"

"I know where that is," Draco realized. "It's a road of private residences. We walked down it last night."

Had she really been right under his nose nearly the whole morning as he and Kassem had searched? He wanted to scream in frustration, but he also wanted a cigarette. He knew that neither would help him in his current predicament - which frustrated him only further.

After thanking the mirror, the foursome departed the chamber. Draco immediately felt his anxiety ebb somewhat upon stepping back into the kitchens; Hufflepuff's chamber had certainly not made him feel very welcome.

"That mirror would have come in handy so many times…" Potter remarked as they made their way back toward the corridor outside. His face had darkened like a raincloud.

"I know, mate," Ron consoled gently, clapping a hand on his friend's back. "We could've saved Sirius. But none of us were Hufflepuffs then, and only badgers can find the place."

"Yeah," Harry agreed morosely. After a beat, he changed the subject, "Wonder if there are any other mirrors like it?"

"I asked it last time I was there, and there was only ever one other. Apparently it went to a Queen in Denmark or Germany or something, centuries ago. The maker gifted the other one to Helga Hufflepuff."

A look of wonderment stealing slowly over his features, Harry listed, "The Chamber of Secrets, Ravenclaw's study, Hufflepuff's round room… I wonder if there's a secret place belonging to Gryffindor, since the other three founders have one..."

"Well, while you're wheedling over what  _ could _ be, I'm going after Hermione," Draco announced, bringing them all back to the task at hand. His patience had finally run its course, not that he'd really had much to begin with. His fingers were still itching for a cigarette.

"We're coming, too," Weasley reminded him sourly.

"Potter can come," Draco acceded. "The rest of you can stay. You're too hot-headed, Weasley, and Greengrass is only here because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"If anyone's staying behind, it's you, Malfoy," Ron snapped, reddening again.

"Hermione is more than our best friend, she's essentially our sister," Harry agreed.

Daphne voiced, "I don't want to stay behind."

"We're coming," Harry concluded. Then, eyeing Daphne, he added, "And an extra wand can't hurt."

Draco dearly wanted to hex the lot of them but resorted to rolling his eyes, knowing he was outnumbered.

Once it became clear they were not going to argue over this any longer, Weasley turned to Potter and cautioned, "You realize that Ginny is going to be furious she didn't get to come…"

Harry grimaced. "I know."

.

.

Finding Hermione was a spectacle all on its own. The mirror had given them an approximate location in the name of the road she was located, but all of the tall, brick buildings looked the same.

Harry and Ron had solved this problem by casting their Patronuses to find her. While Weasley's silvery Jack Russell terrier was not what Draco would have considered impressive, Potter's ghostly stag was. He felt out of place and just a tiny bit inadequate. Judging from her awkward stance, he suspected Greengrass was feeling similarly.

This was only driven home when an otter Patronus twisted its way through the street toward them and in Hermione's voice, entreated, "Stay right there. I'll be on the sidewalk in a moment."

_ An otter, _ he reflected, relief flooding his entire body at the sound of her voice.  _ Of course. _ It was the perfect Patronus for her.

As promised, Hermione appeared moments later on the front steps leading up to an average-looking building, tall and thin, between other equally tall and thin buildings. They looked like apartments. She spotted them moments after Draco laid eyes on her, and waved vigorously, catching their attention.

_ Thank Merlin, she's safe. _ He knew Theo had assured him she was, but what if he had been wrong? Not that he really ever had...

The moment they approached, she closed some of the distance between them and, flustered, began, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare-"

"You had us all worried sick!" Weasley cried, in an unintentionally apt impression of his own mother.

"I'm sorry, I lost track of the hour…"

It then seemed to sink in how odd it was to see the assembled group before her, actually together.

"Why are all four of you here?"

The general gist of the story came out in a seamless explanation that passed from Potter to Weasley, back to Potter, and finishing with Weasley. Hermione simply nodded at the whole thing, eyes wide with forthcoming apologies. Draco began to feel a little left out, the way the three of them simply locked onto one another. He shuffled his feet and Daphne elbowed him, sending a sidelong smile of reassurance at the same time.

Finally, Draco demanded, "Why didn't you tell me you had left?"

All four of them turned to look at him. Hermione puffed up, looking contrite but exhilarated. "I'm so sorry, Draco. It's just… I was hungover, and probably not thinking straight when I left to get some coffee this morning. I only meant to be a couple of minutes, but I ran into someone completely unexpected."

In the back of his mind, Theo was taking a step back from him and protesting,  _ If I help you, she ends up with someone else other than you. _

In his most infuriatingly cutting drawl, he quizzed, "And who would  _ that _ be?"

"The Comte de Saint-Germain! Or, well, he goes just by 'Germain' these days…"

"Who?" Ron wondered cluelessly.

Eyebrows furrowed, Draco sharply prompted, "The alchemist?"

"Yes," she nodded vigorously. Her entire body was vibrating with excitement. "Come inside. I think he can help us."

Moments later, they were being ushered into the building she emerged from, and the five of them ascended a steep, narrow staircase to the top floor of the apartment building. The man they had viewed in the mirror was seated in the same armchair he had been hours ago, now sipping at what looked like brandy from a double old-fashioned glass.

He did not look in the least surprised to see them. "These are your friends, Miss Granger?"

_ So this is the famous Comte… _

"Yes, sir. This is Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, and Daphne Greengrass," Hermione introduced.

_ Interesting thing to see where I stand in the line-up, _ Draco noted blandly. Though he was somewhat placated by being at least placed before Weasley, if not Potter.

"Please come in and have a seat," Germain welcomed. "It isn't every day I can invite English war heroes into my home."

A stab of guilt followed by a spike of anger flashed through Draco. He had never been one to make a scene when he could have been misconstrued as the victim however, so he quietly followed the others inside, biting back his thoughts and opinions in favor of scowling at everything.

He had to admit, the Comte's apartment was interesting. In some ways, it reminded him of Ravenclaw's secret chamber hidden at the castle, only tidier. He might have been more intrigued if it were not for how angry he was with Hermione.

Almost the whole story came out, told mostly by Hermione. Meanwhile, their host had set about using magic to make them tea. He did it wandlessly from his armchair, Draco noticed.  _ Impressive. _

"…And Germain thinks it's a good idea to continue testing out my theories on the truth-compelling powder and the Veritaserum," Hermione prattled on. She seemed to already know how furious Draco was with her, and was not meeting his eyes. "In fact, I have a ton of notes toward that theory now, thanks to him."

In an ungainly manner, Weasley turned to their host and queried, "So, you're an alchemist?"

"I am," the Comte nodded. Their tea was now - also wandlessly - floating out around the room to his guests.

"Did you ever meet Nicholas Flamel?" Potter asked, accepting his cuppa from the air.

"He was my instructor," the man answered. He had a strange sort of accent, like a person who spoke many different languages frequently and could not remember which was his mother tongue any longer. "I knew him, and his wife, Perenelle, quite well. We spent much of his final days together."

The Boy Who Lived sipped at his teacup, surveying his host over the rim. "You must have a philospher's stone of your own."

Knocking back the remainder of his brandy, their host did not answer and only set aside his empty glass.

"That's right!" Weasley brightened. "I'm sure Hermione told you all about that, ah, alchemy thing she and Malfoy got messed up in. You could lend them your stone so they can unbind themselves!"

"Ron," Hermione reprimanded, frowning.

"What?"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that," Germain said frankly.

"Well, why not?" Weasley wanted to know.

"I can't simply give it to anyone who asserts that they need it," the alchemist patiently explained. "Regardless of how highly I may think of Miss Granger’s intelligence and enthusiasm for the magical world, the philosopher’s stone was a wondrous discovery unlike many others. I am grateful that Nicholas chose me as his apprentice to learn the ways of such an ancient art, but it’s unnatural for humankind to live forever, or to remain without disease, or to be rich beyond imagination. Everyone would want to stake a claim on it."

"I wouldn't," Harry contradicted flatly. "I helped destroy one."

Germain surveyed the Boy Who Lived, an inscrutable expression on his face. "You are, indeed, a singular wizard, Harry Potter."

"But this isn't like that," Ron protested. "They only got bound by accident, and this would be a one-off…"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted again. "Stop, please."

"But Hermione…"

"Were I to take on an apprentice with whom to share the secret with, I might consider this vastly intelligent witch sitting amongst you," Germain conceded. Hermione's cheeks tinged pink at the impressive compliment. "But one of the final things Nicholas and I agreed on before he departed this life, was that this one remaining stone was never to be shared, and that one day I would be the one to destroy it… when the time came." The man drank deeply from his brandy before adding, "Any witch or wizard that delves into alchemy does so with their eyes open. Consequences can be lasting and uncomfortable, it's true... but that is a part of living one’s life with magic."

The five students stayed only long enough to finish their tea before Potter hinted that they should be getting back to Hogwarts. Draco was glad of this; he had not drank any of his tea, as his sour mood had persisted throughout the meeting and had turned his stomach. Though he could not put his finger on exactly what it was, something about Germain unsettled him.

After wishing them a pleasant journey back to Scotland, the alchemist bid Hermione a separate adieu. Lightly kissing her hand, he encouraged, "Your intelligence is your biggest asset in overcoming the obstacle before you. I have great faith that you can discover the answer to your predicament. Use the notes you took from our conversation, and heed your own theories… maybe, you will even go beyond."

"Thank you, sir," she responded, eyes shining hopefully.

He considered her a moment longer. "Perhaps, Miss Granger, you will one day make your own philosopher's stone... and two hundred years from now, we will meet again. But until then…"

Draco could feel his jaw clench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages ago, I got asked a question regarding the secret chambers that belonged to both Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and if I thought the other founders had secret places as well. Many, MANY chapters ago, I got a different request to write a scene where we got to explore the Hogwarts kitchens. Now, here we are...
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Comments are like manna: they give me life. I appreciate every, single one. Thank you.


	56. Threadlines & Confessionals

It was nearly dark by the time the five travelers returned to 12 Grimmauld Place. Draco had not got a chance to really see the house before – the group had arrived and gone straight to the fireplace to utilize the international Floo – and anyway, he had been too worried about Hermione to take much notice of irrelevant things like his surroundings.

Now, though? Now was a different story. He was not entirely sure where he had expected Potter to live, but this was absolutely not it.

"It's so much brighter in here, Harry," Hermione commented as she stepped from the kitchen fireplace and began looking around.

_ Meaning this place was once even more dingy and awful? _ Draco uncharitably thought as Ron brought up the rear of their group, appearing last in the fireplace. The five of them had shown up at Kassem's door, only to find that the wizard had gone out on business. By a stroke of luck, Daphne had been trained in French by an aunt, and explained their needs to Christelle, who was glad to be of use, and had willingly shown them all to the Floo.

Potter’s kitchen was a cavernous room with a wooden table and chairs in the center, a pantry off to the side, the sizeable fireplace they had entered from - and not much else.

"Hogwarts will have closed their gates by this hour," Harry deduced, checking his wristwatch. "Which means we'll have to use one of the passages to sneak back in."

"Which are you thinking? The Shrieking Shack?" Weasley queried.

Harry nodded. "It's the best one. We'll want to wait a bit longer though. Once it's fully dark, we can Apparate to Hogsmeade, break into the Shrieking Shack, and get back up to the castle. We'll have our best chances of being undetected."

"I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble…" Hermione began.

"Actually," Daphne put in, looping her arm through her friend's. "I'm glad we have some time to kill because I have  _ so _ many questions for you. I managed to get bits and pieces of what's going on – something about you and Draco messing around with some advanced alchemy, accidentally binding yourselves in some way, then running amok in  _ Paris _ of all places! Then there’s the bit where you were meeting up with famous alchemists to find a way to undo whatever you've done? I'm absolutely  _ full _ of questions!"

Harry chuckled. "There's a drawing room upstairs we can use. I'm sure we'd  _ all _ like to hear the whole story…"

Draco's eyes narrowed; he did not like the tone of Potter's voice just then. It intimated that there were more secrets to be told… and he was now seriously questioning his own sanity in having told his former rival anything of his marriage to Hermione.

Nevertheless, he followed the rest of the group as they trudged up a poorly lit staircase and into a long hallway. Several rolls of ancient, dusty carpeting were discarded in the corners, along with huge strips of horrible wallpaper. There were still pieces of the pattern in the top corners of the corridor, and around the gas lamps that lit the place. The light here flickered ominously.

"Just be quiet," Harry warned in a murmur.

"Why?" Daphne whispered back.

"You don't want to wake up the…"

But Daphne, distracted by listening for Harry's response, had not noticed the troll-leg umbrella stand just around the corner and had bumped into it, knocking it over with a resounding  _ clomp _ .

A set of tall curtains flew open, revealing a life-size portrait of a mad, older woman. Her eyes were crazed and blood-shot, and from her drooling mouth she was screaming at the top of her lungs, "BLOOD TRAITORS! MUDBLOODS!"

"Ah, bloody hell," Ron cursed.

"HALF-BREEDS AND SCUM!"

"Oh no!" Hermione moaned in despair. "Not again…"

Harry hastened over to the portrait and began wrestling with the curtains to try covering the woman back up, but her screams prevailed. "STAINS OF DISHONOR!"

"Shut up!" he roared at it.

"Oh my," Daphne gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

From the portrait, the woman raised a skeletal hand and pointed a long finger toward their group. "CHILDREN OF FILTH!"

" _ Excuse me _ ?" Draco demanded in little less than a roar. He marched purposefully over to the portrait, where Harry was still struggling with the curtains to try covering the awful woman back up.

Satisfied she now had an immediate audience, the portrait moaned, "Mudbloods and blood traitors... in  _ my _ home..."

Drawing himself up, Draco could feel himself expanding with the latent anger that had been bubbling just under the surface of his volatile temper all day. "Since you seen to care about that horse-shit, I’ll have you know that in _my_ _veins_ runs some of the purest wizarding blood in Europe. I am descended from the ancient line of Malfoy and the scrupulous line of Black – and I command you to cease your filthy wailing _immediately_ or suffer the consequences!"

Because really, this day had been stressful enough without that cacophony.

The portrait calmed, to everyone's surprise. The mad, drooling woman eyed him curiously. "A Malfoy, you say? You must be Narcissa’s boy."

Taken by surprise that this horrible, insane painting would know his family tree, Draco took a step back and raised his wand. "What of it?"

"Is that any way for you to speak to your great-aunt, young man?"

It was a mercy that Harry was able to finally pull the curtains shut, but the confrontation still left a taste like mold in Draco’s mouth, fuzzy and unclean.

Weasley coughed out something that suspiciously sounded like, "Inbred."

"Sorry," Daphne apologized in a very small voice. "I didn't see the umbrella stand."

"It's alright," Hermione whispered. "She's always awful. We usually just try not to disturb her… I don't miss living with that."

When had Hermione lived here? And why was one of his ancestors' portraits hanging in the wall? And why, why,  _ why _ did that ancestor have to be a mad, elitist pureblood?

Subdued by the encounter, and frazzled from the day's multitudes of stressors, Draco followed the rest of the group up another flight of steps. The stairwell was decorated with a row of shrunken house-elf heads, mounted on the wall on plaques. Ahead, Potter was explaining, "Ginny and I found a way to get those off – they don't have a Permanent Sticking Charm like the portrait, fortunately – but we just don't know what to do with them afterward. It seems wrong to just throw them away…"

"You could always bury them," Hermione suggested. Draco noticed she was giving the macabre display as wide a berth as possible.

They came at last to the first landing of the tall townhouse, where Potter ushered them into a dusty drawing room.

"You and Ginny did some serious work in here," Hermione was admiring as she looked around the place. It was the only room they had been in so far that was mildly inhabitable. "It nearly looks like something."

"Ginny suggested we use some of the money Sirius left me to redecorate. She figured it was a good way to spend it, since he always hated this place…"

"How many floors have you got?" Daphne was asking. "It looks like the stairs went quite a bit further up."

"There are two more floors. But we've only got around to working on this room, the master bedroom, and the kitchen so far."

"This is all well and good," Ron interjected, "but I'm echoing Daphne's earlier sentiment, Hermione. There are a lot of questions I want answered… like why in the name of Merlin's saggy Y-fronts were you in France overnight with  _ Malfoy _ ?"

In the back of his mind, Draco's conscious self added,  _ And why did you leave without a word? _

"Actually," Daphne corrected, "I want the whole story from the beginning, please. I've been waiting very patiently, I think."

Hermione settled herself onto a comfortable-looking sofa that appeared newer than the rest of the room. For a moment, she gazed at Draco and their eyes met. She must not have liked what she saw there however, for she quickly looked away again. He was unsurprised; he was still furious with her for her transgression, and now also for the flippancy with which she had treated his worry.

As she began to tell the story, he paced the far side of the room. There were some long windows that faced the London streets outside, as well as a handsome fireplace. A folding screen successfully blocked off a large section of wall, which he vacantly glanced behind, only to have his interest unexpectedly arrested.

Beyond any doubt, the wall was plastered with a woven pureblood family tree. He moved in closer to get a better look.

The tapestry was immensely old; it was faded and looked as though doxies had gnawed it in places. Regardless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to depict a sprawling family tree dating back to the thirteenth century. There were some large words at the top which read:  _ En Stirps Nobilis et Gens Antiquissima Black _ .

_ Behold the Noble Family and Oldest Clan Black _ . At least, that was what Draco thought it said. It had been a number of years since his father had made him study Latin.

Underneath, it continued:  _ Toujours pur _ .

_ Purity always _ . Draco swallowed hard as a nasty feeling settled into his gut. The Black family... somehow, Potter had come to be in possession of the ancestral home of his mother's bloodline. He was unsure what to make of that.

Following the golden threadlines through names and dates, there were some that were familiar, some not. Occasionally a person had been blasted away, indicating disownment, which only cemented the awful sensation into the pit of his innards.

Soon enough, he found what he was looking for:  _ Narcissa Black (1955- ) _ was joined to  _ Lucius Malfoy (1953- ) _ . A line of golden thread connected them, then led from their union down to  _ Draco Malfoy (1980- ) _ . Joined with his own woven name was a line of embroidery done in black thread rather than gold, which indicated his union to  _ Hermione Granger (1979- ) _ .

Of course the thread had been enchanted to detect an unwelcome union... With how conscionable the Black family had been, it was really no surprise.

He touched the connection with mixed feelings, fingers brushing the dark line of embroidery that joined his name to Hermione's. Was his entire marriage defined by black, woven thread? Was his bloodline represented by a screaming portrait of a madwoman and his name on an enchanted tapestry? Was that the legacy he was to inherit?

Was that why Hermione had left without a word?

Draco tried to imagine a future in which Hermione and his mother could be civil to one another for more than a few minutes' time and for the life of him, he could not do it.

His eyes caught the burn mark over the place for his mother's estranged sister, Andromeda. She had been disowned for marrying her Muggle-born husband. A sudden desire to blast away his own name from the damning heirloom seized him, but Draco restrained himself, feeling he had already called enough attention to his pedigree in the last quarter-hour with the spectacle he had engaged in, downstairs…

"Oy, Malfoy," Weasley taunted, "you looking for your future wife on that family tree, or what?"

"Don't, Ron," Hermione snapped. She appeared to have come to the end of her synopsis, as Daphne looked mostly satisfied.

"What do you want me to say, 'Mione? Ferret-Face has got you into so many scrapes this year alone, there's no  _ way _ I'd want to be all cozy with the bloke - even if he hadn't been a Death Eater, or called you  _ that _ word, or any of the other stuff…"

"Ronald!" she warned.

"I'm serious, Hermione. Have you forgotten how hard you cried over the M-word in second year when you found out what it meant? Remember who it was who introduced you to that particular bit of grimy language?"

Draco felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He could hear his younger self - clear as day - spitting out, " _ Mudblood _ !" with the intention of unsettling her, to hurt her. Now, he wanted to crawl underneath the rug of the drawing room, but it looked decidedly ancient and filthy.

"We've  _ all _ changed because of the war, Ron," Hermione defended dubiously. "Draco included."

Interrupting his best mate, Harry directly questioned, "Do you know why I got placed in Slytherin this year, Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes, affecting nonchalance. He was still contemplating the drawing room carpet.

"Because I asked the Sorting Hat to put me there."

"You did what?" Daphne gasped, shocked.

Harry's eyes were still fixed on Draco however. "Back in first year, when I tried on the hat for the first time, it told me I would do well in Slytherin. That bothered me for  _ years _ . But this year, as I was waiting in line for my name to be called up and Hermione was put in Ravenclaw, I thought to myself that the biggest and best thing I could do for the rebuilding effort now that Voldemort is gone, would be to go where the hat had tried to place me initially."

Draco snorted disbelievingly. "You would have been eaten alive in the old Slytherin. If the founder hadn't put a prerequisite on being pure- or half-blood in his picks for his house,  _ Hermione _ would have been a Slytherin, but not you."

Hermione bore an inscrutable expression that nearly looked as if she were highly flattered, if unsure exactly how to take the compliment, especially because she could sense that there were more than a few words still unspoken between them.

"Just stop calling her by her first name, will you?" Ron groaned. "It just sounds weird when you say it."

Ignoring them both, Harry's eyes bore into Malfoy. He pressed, "You did the same thing, I understand. You asked to be in Ravenclaw. Why?"

He became hyper aware that everyone's eyes were on him. Even Daphne, who had mostly felt like an outsider on the confrontation, had her eyes rooted to him. Draco said nothing, his eyes narrowing as he wondered what Potter was trying to get at, really. He still had not forgiven the wizard for his  _ Sectumsempra _ stunt in sixth year, regardless of how much he might have deserved it.

"I didn't ask to be sent to the eagle's nest," he finally snapped. "I just wanted something different from what I was used to. Sodding hat probably knew I would have hopped the first train home if I'd been sent in with the lions - or worse, badgers."

"Hey!" Ron protested in loyalty to both his houses.

"Well, then, Draco," Potter concluded, looking a little smug. His given name sounded supremely weird being said aloud by Harry. "Since you're invested in your  _ own _ rebuilding process at least, I suggest you enlighten Hermione on what it is you told me earlier."

_ That bastard.  _ So  _ this _ was why Potter had withheld the knowledge of their secret marriage from Weasley and Greengrass… he wanted to see  _ Hermione's _ reaction when it was revealed that he knew. Simultaneously, he mentally tipped his hat to his former rival.  _ Perhaps Potter is somewhat Slytherin, after all... _

But this moment was not about Potter, or Weasley, or Greengrass. It was about Hermione… and himself. He cast his eyes to the low couch where she sat, watching him expectantly. A wrinkle of worry had clouded her brow and she gazed at him as if he were stranger, unable to read him.

It struck Draco that she must be exhausted. There were bags under her eyes and her hair – which had been previously straightened in that way which both enticed and irritated him – was beginning to grow a bit frazzled in the front, as if it could not help itself. He recalled that neither of them had got very much sleep last night…

…Had it really been less than 24 hours ago that he persuaded her to go out with him and Kassem? The Hermione from last night had allowed him to instruct her on the art of cigar smoking before running across the sands of the narrow beach to chase one of Kassem's girls. Bare feet kicking up sand, the flickering light from the bonfire had danced across her smooth legs while the carefree smile on her face had sent his heart leaping. At the time, he had attributed this to the overabundance of indulgences he had partaken in that evening, but now he knew it was because he had already surrendered to the idea of keeping her.

They had stumbled up to Kassem's house, accidentally knocking into furniture in their haste to undress one another. By the gods above, he had  _ wanted _ her then… wanted to bury himself – deep – into her. To feel her around his cock, to hear her cry out as he pounded into her...

Even drunk, he had known it would not do. Not then, when they had been imbibing and there was a chance either of them would not remember it come morning. No. When he finally drove himself into that witch and claimed her as his own, he wanted to be sure it was something she would never forget.

"Draco?" Hermione probed, bringing him back to the present. She was pale, gazing at him with an expression on her face like she already knew what he had admitted to Potter earlier. "What does Harry mean?"

Perhaps it was possible to still keep Ron and Daphne out of the know. He did not exactly fancy being on the receiving end of yet another of Weasley's rants, especially as he was not sure he would be able to hold back from hexing the obtuse wizard this time…

"I told him."

With an intake of breath, her hand flew up to cover her mouth. Her eyes immediately went to Harry, whose own gaze was boring into her. Quietly, he implored, "Why didn't you tell us?"

"What in the bloody blazes is happening?" Ron caterwauled.

Draco was not going to be the one to explain, to say the words – that much, he was sure of. Hermione instinctively seemed to know this. After a moment's deliberation, she said, "Draco and I, we… we're married."

…And there it was.

Daphne's hands clapped together in glee and she actually squealed aloud. "This. Is.  _ Wonderful _ !"

Ron, meanwhile, was experimenting with just how many different shades of red and purple he could become. Eventually, he croaked out, "How long?"

"Since New Years' Eve… oh, boys, I'm so,  _ so _ sorry I didn't tell you. I was afraid of what you might say."

"Hermione," Harry said frankly, fixing her with a stern look. "After everything the three of us have been through, being married to Malfoy is not the worst thing."

"Thanks, Potter," Draco drawled sarcastically.

"I'm not so sure about that," Ron grumbled under his breath.

"However, the fact that I had to find out from Malfoy, instead of one of my best friends really stung," he admitted.

"Why  _ did _ you tell him, Draco?" Hermione queried. “You broke the secrecy contract.”

"I wouldn't have if you hadn't gone galavanting across Paris with some perfect stranger," he sneered, not feeling very charitable toward her. It seemed even Potter was to get a proper apology before his own feelings were even considered. "In the back of my mind, you were trussed up in someone's basement… being tortured, or..."

"You mean like  _ you _ had prisoners in  _ your _ basement, Malfoy?"

"Give it a rest, Weasley!"

But Hermione protested, "I only did it because it  _ wasn't _ some perfect stranger. It was the Comte de Saint-Germain, a renowned alchemist!"

"Oh, so you've met him before?"

"Well, no."

"I believe that is the very definition of a stranger, Hermione."

"But Draco, he's 287 years old. He had mastered quintessence! I knew he could help us."

"He could be Merlin and I couldn't care less! You  _ disappeared _ . You didn’t even leave a  _ note _ ! I had to work with  _ these _ ," he gestured to Harry and Ron with a sweep of his hand, "to find you."

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Ron spat.

"Keep your propositions to yourself, Weasley, you've far too many freckles for my liking and I don't care to find out the extent of them."

"Ferrety prick!"

"Enough!" Daphne exploded. Face flushed just from being on the periphery of the argument, she entreated Harry, "Don't you think it's time to get heading back to the castle? This conversation is only going to devolve from here."

"I'm more than ready," Draco agreed.

"Seconded," Harry added quickly. With a swift glance in Hermione's direction, he added, "We can continue this conversation another time, when we've all had some time to sleep on it."

Hermione bit her lip, looking as if she might cry, though her eyes remained steadfastly dry. "Yes. Let's go."

.

.

The journey back into Hogwarts was conducted mainly in silence. All five companions were immersed in their own reflections. They emerged onto the school grounds once Harry used a long stick to prod the knot on the Whomping Willow above the tunnel's exit, freezing its flailing arms. A short while later, they were back inside. The castle was bustling with its usual energy.

The Great Hall had emptied and Ron groaned, "We've missed dinner."

"At least you're near the kitchens, mate," Harry reminded.

"Right." Ron cast a black look at both Hermione and Draco before bidding Harry, "Good luck with Ginny."

He was gone without another word. Worriedly, Hermione glanced at Daphne, but her housemate did not seem too upset at her boyfriend's cold departure.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione, yeah?" Harry queried. His green eyes warmed somewhat and he pulled her into a hug. "I'm glad you're safe."

"Thank you, Harry. I'll see you in the morning."

He, too, disappeared.

Daphne took a few steps toward the staircases that would take them to Ravenclaw Tower before turning and glancing over her shoulder. Outwardly she appeared only demure, but Draco could sense her secret simpering. "Are you two coming?"

Tentatively, Hermione decided, "Actually, I think we need a minute."

With a coy smile and a bat of her eyes, Daphne bid, "I'll be off then. Good night, lovebirds."

The minute she was out of view, Hermione turned to Draco. She was still not meeting his gaze, instead occupying herself with neatening the stack of parchment she was carrying. She had not put down her notes from her visit with Germain, even for a moment. "Are you still angry with me?"

"Immeasurably."

A tiny bob of her head indicated she had been expecting that answer. "Can we speak about it privately? Perhaps in our quarters?"

He only nodded in the appropriate direction, so they took off.

When they appeared in its line of vision at last, their gargoyle quipped, "Fancy seeing you two here. I notice you rarely come to visit together, but I suppose it  _ is _ after hours…"

"Eagles' nest," Hermione mechanically gave the password, not in the mood to banter with the guardian.

"Fine, fine," it grumbled. Both the statue and its platform sprang to the side to admit them.

Though she cast a brief backward glance in his direction to be sure he was still following, Hermione entered ahead. Sauntering in second, Draco found her silhouetted in the glow of the moon from the tall crenel of a window. Her back was to him and she was fiddling with her alchemy materials. She pulled the small vial of Veritaserum from her robes pocket and deposited it amongst her potioneering supplies, which were still spread out over much of their coffee table and even on the floor near it. Though she had accidentally coined this place a 'nest' on the day they had set their password, Draco observed that their shared quarters resembled a workroom or a study chamber more than anything else. He supposed he should not have suspected it would be otherwise, regardless of whatever hopes he might have harbored since.

After all, their marriage was, on its most basic level, a binding with an expiration date.

She glanced surreptitiously at him once more, now shuffling her small stack of parchment, marked all over with notes from her conference with the Comte. To break the ice, she began, "Germain was kind enough to review my theories about the truth powder and Veritaserum. He gave me a lot to think about. He also thinks I should try testing the stones in my bracelet too, since they detect truth… find the commonality between the three…"

The sapphire-like stones in her bracelet flashed in the moonlight that filtered through the window behind her, like stars. Not in the mood to discuss their alchemy experiment gone awry, Draco threw back, "Why did you take off and disappear without letting me know you were safe?"

"Because… I  _ was _ safe." Her hands, which had begun to reflect a sort of hopefulness as they held her collection of parchment to her chest, slowly lowered. The neat stack was placed on the table in defeat to join the rest of her copious notes. "Though you're right. I really should have contacted you to let you know where I was. Sent a Patronus, or a note..."

"Is that all the apology I'm to expect from you?" he challenged hotly.

"I'm sorry," she insisted, looking contrite. As she often did when she was nervous, one of her fingers wound into her hair as if searching for a curl to tease. As it had been tamed only the previous evening, no such obliging curl presented itself and her hand fell to her side once more. If anything, it only seemed to make her more nervous. "I had no idea you would be so worried."

"Why wouldn't I worry?"

"I don't know… It was very careless of me to lose track of time like that. I can't imagine what you were feeling to be willing to come fetch Harry and Ron to look for me. I know you aren't really on friendly terms with either of them."

He could feel his nostrils flaring; adrenaline coursed through his body like a drug, working its way into every cell of his being. It was a challenge to remain calm when he was ready to explode, but he fought the instinct. "I don't understand how you could simply disappear with a complete stranger without telling a soul where you were. Tell me something, Hermione: did you simply f _ orget the entire war _ ?"

"Of course not, Draco, I…"

He interrupted, "Then did you forget  _ everything _ you and I have been through together? It seems to me you must have, considering you were able to waltz away with another man so easily without a single, wayward thought for your husband."

Seeming startled somewhat at his vehemence, Hermione walked to the window and placed her hands on the sill. "Forgive me. I just… I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am. You're right. I was extremely selfish today. You deserve better than to be treated that way."

Unflinchingly, he pierced her with his steeliest gaze.

She lamented, "What can I say? I can't take back what's done."

All at once, Draco's anger seemed to deflate, and his entire body - so tense for so many hours - began to sag with utter exhaustion. He was so very sore, so weary. He lurched forward, hands gripping the table so hard his knuckles were white with the exertion. His expression crumbled into a manifestation of complete agony. "Just make me a single promise, Hermione, that you will never just…  _ leave _ ."

It was immediately clear that the argument had become about so much more than her transgression that morning. Just like when he had bared his emotions to Potter (had that really only been a handful of hours ago?) Draco felt distinctly weak, vulnerable… like an animal near its imminent demise.

Hadn't Theo indicated that she was in love with him? Draco was positive he would never have made such a fool of himself if it had not been for that assurance. Was she now going to leave him hanging? Would she always?

He chanced a look up at her. Everything that had been thusfar unspoken seemed to hang in silence like fog in the night. Hermione was staring at him, awestruck, wordless.

"Say something," he demanded.

She breathed in sharply and her countenance immediately paled. In a tiny voice, she eked out, "I love you."

_ Finally _ . Relief came like a gasp of long-denied oxygen.

He did not remember crossing the room, but the next moment they were entangled so tightly around one another, it was as if they were one entity. Draco felt like his heart was trying to bang its way out of his ribcage and also that he could not get enough air, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was kissing her. Her whispers against his mouth, his hands tangled in her hair… she was saying his name over and over again, in a kind of feverish whisper…

Sinking onto the couch, it was unclear when they had actually come unglued, just for her to simply lie half-on, half-off him on the divan. Exhausted from the simple act of confession, her head rested on his chest with her eyes closed, while he ran his fingers through her long hair.

Some time later, her eyelashes fluttered and a pair of serious, brown eyes were gazing into his.

"What is it?"

She was studying him. "Do you forgive me for leaving earlier?"

He leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. "If I tell you I do, will you promise to never do that to me again? You never did answer me earlier."

With a small, shy smile, she pointed out, "You never answered me, either."

Fixing a frank look onto his face, he replied, "I should have thought it was perfectly obvious that I was already in pretty deep with you."

She frowned at the evasive answer, but nonetheless swore, "Of course I will never do that to you again, Draco."

"Then of course I love you, you crazy witch."

It was strange, but saying it to her felt different from admitting it to himself, or to Potter. It felt powerful rather than weak, more like armor than vulnerability… and the way she smiled at him at the admission was the most pure thing he owned.

With a little sigh of contentedness, she snuggled into his chest, incandescent. Of course it happened just as his arm was falling asleep… but that would be fine where it was for a little while longer yet.

At some point she became heavier and Draco recognized that she had fallen asleep. He knew there would be hell to pay for staying. Zabini, at least, was sure to notice his absence for the second night in a row. He found he did not care and rested his chin on the top of her head, enjoying the feel of her in his arms while she slept.

Eventually, he must have drifted off himself, because his waking reality was gradually tinged with the fanciful velleities of dreams…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was too impatient to post this chapter, so please accept a double-update as a token of my eternal thanks to everyone who left me comments on the last bits! You are all amazing. I love reading your speculations on what's to come, your impressions of what I wrote, and the sprinkling of blush-worthy praise, because it 110% makes my day every time. So... what do you think? It only took them 56 chapters to say it!
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	57. Re-Alignment

" _ Someone _ didn't come to the dormitory last night and she wasn't the only one in Ravenclaw Tower that didn't," Daphne sang under her breath as she approached Hermione outside the Great Hall at breakfast. She nestled an arm through her friend's and leaned in conspiratorially for a response.

Hermione inwardly reflected how unfortunate it was that she was prone to reddening at statements such as these. "For heaven’s sake, keep your voice down..."

"Why? You're married. No shame in participating in the usual marital activities. You have  _ no idea _ how much I wish I could tell Pansy; she would absolutely  _ die _ that you were the one to finally get Draco into bed…"

"You can't!" she hissed, panicked. "You can't tell anyone, it's still a secret."

"I know, I know," Daphne assured her calmly. "I just  _ wish _ I could."

"And we don't… we haven't…  _ done _ that yet."

Fixing her with a disbelieving stare, the former-Slytherin demanded, "Are you telling me that you've been married to Draco for nearly a month and you two haven't even…?"

"This isn't really a conversation I want to be having near the Great Hall. Or at all, for that matter."

"But Hermione, this is important. Why haven't you?"

"It's complicated…"

" _ YOU _ !" Both girls turned their heads to see Ginny Weasley storming toward them. It was remarkable how closely she resembled a hurricane.

Hermione gulped, "I have to go…"

Ginny seized her by the arm, dragging her away from the entrance of the hall, whilst ignoring the stares of several of their peers. Once they were out of earshot, she cast a _muffliato_ and accused, " _Harry_ told me that you disappeared in _Paris_ yesterday because you were there with _Malfoy_ overnight. Apparently Malfoy approached him yesterday morning because you were missing – _and_ _get this_ – when Harry asked that stinking ferret why he had been there with you, he told him it was because the two of you were _married_!"

"It's true," Hermione admitted, feeling extremely guilty.

Visibly hurt, her friend demanded, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry any of you…"

"Didn't want to  _ worry us _ ?" she repeated incredulously. "Hermione, for someone who is really smart, you're honestly an idiot sometimes. We  _ love _ you, we're your friends and we're here to support you."

"I just know that none of you like him." The protest sounded weak even to her own ears.

" _ So what _ ? How would you have felt if Harry and I got married and didn't tell anyone? Wouldn't you be offended? But not only did you not tell me on your own, you even  _ lied _ about it, because I  _ asked _ how you and His Highness were doing and you told me nothing had changed."

Her friend's berating words humbled her significantly. Nervously chewing her lower lip, she pleaded, "I'm so sorry... I've just been under so much pressure. I seem to be making a lot of mistakes lately…"

With a penetrating, disbelieving gaze, Ginny insisted, "We have so much we need to catch up on, but I am still so  _ angry _ with you." She stomped her foot, nostrils flaring. "I need the day to compose myself after this - but what are you doing after dinner?"

"I have prefect rounds."

She emitted a deep sigh through her nose. "Before dinner then?"

"I'm free."

Eye twitching, Ginny concluded, "Fine. I will hurry through being upset with you – but you had better meet me then."

"Alright," she meekly acquiesced. Brightening a little, she offered, "You can meet me on the third floor landing. I know a place we won't be disturbed."

"Good, because I have so many questions I need to ask… and may the gods have mercy on your soul if you attempt to hide the answers from me."

The warning bell for morning classes rang just then. Having been deprived of breakfast, Hermione's stomach gave a loud grumble.

"Sorry," Ginny apologized, looking very much as though she only half meant it. "I haven’t seen Ron looking so frazzled before - and Harry just looks betrayed."

This did nothing to make Hermione feel any better, and she went hungry to her first class.

.

.

Though Harry had saved her a seat next to him, he had also gone up six flights of stairs to Transfiguration without her. Hermione knew him well enough to deduce that this meant he was still feeling put out by her lack of trust in him.

"Morning, 'Mione," he greeted, too politely. The look of reproach in his eyes only confirmed her suspicions.

They worked together mechanically during the practical lesson. It broke her heart a little that her best friend seemed to only be going through the motions with her, to give the impression that nothing was amiss – when of course, everything was. Afterward, they met Ron on the second floor landing, where the Hufflepuffs had just been released from Charms.

"Herbology?" Ron queried, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs down to the bottom level. "D'you believe Flitwick was already going on about NEWTs? It's January!"

He completely ignored Hermione. Her stomach rumbled painfully.

While Ron and Harry quickly moved on to discussing Hufflepuff's chances in the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw that would take place in two weeks, Hermione began trailing behind the boys. She was reminded strongly of third year, when her best friends had gone two-and-a-half months not speaking to her after Harry had been anonymously gifted his Firebolt and she had reported it to Professor McGonagall. Granted, she had been correct that Sirius had sent the broom to Harry, but none of them had known he had innocent intentions at the time. The Golden Trio made up that February, only for the three of them to resume fighting again the very next day when Ron believed Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, and Harry sided with him rather than Hermione. Her friends were stubborn – but not more stubborn than her – and she had missed them both dreadfully during those months. It had been a very difficult year for her between that and her constant use of the Time Turner...

This time though, she did not blame either of them for being upset with her. She had known deep down that it was wrong to keep such important information from them.

_ They'll come around _ , she hoped.

Snow crunched beneath her boots as the three trudged toward the greenhouses. The grounds were blanketed in a heavy white sheet that had been packed down by hundreds of feet passing this route to Herbology since the last snowfall. Nearby, a pair of sparrows – the only passerine birds brave enough to winter in Scotland – twittered at one another from a gnarled oak.

"Granger!"

Hermione turned; Theo was catching up to her on the snowy path. Further behind him, she could see the tall figures of Draco and Blaise also making their way toward the greenhouses.

She smiled when he finally approached. "How many times do I have to ask you to call me ‘Hermione’?"

"A minimum of once more," he answered, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Ahead of them, she could swear she heard Ron mutter to Harry, "…Fraternizing with Slytherins…"

Anger flared in her chest, but she quelled it. It would not repair her friendship with Ron to point out that he was being a hypocrite; Harry seemed to think so too, as Hermione could swear she caught him glancing at his own green-and-silver tie with something like ironic amusement.

"I almost skipped today," Theo told her nonchalantly. He had either not heard Ron, or else ignored him completely.

"Why?"

He made a face. "Wait 'til you see what Sprout has us doing. I hope you brought gloves…"

The eighth years were accumulating around the outside of greenhouse seven to wait for the arrival of their professor. A pair of slate gray eyes glanced Hermione's way and caused her heart to do a minor flip. At once, she was washed over with a pleasant sensation like a daydream…

_ She could feel fingers pushing her hair gently from her face. A beam of sunlight on the stone floor met her eyes when they fluttered open. Draco was watching her guardedly, his hand caught in the act of tucking her locks behind her ear. _

_ "Good morning," she murmured, sitting part of the way up. She immediately tensed when her body protested how she had been sleeping. _

_ "Good morning," he echoed back, pressing a kiss to her temple. His hand fell to rest on her hip in a subtly possessive gesture. "You're going to want some numbing potion for the arthritis." _

_ She sat up the rest of the way, disentangling her legs from his. They had fallen asleep on the couch in their private quarters – and apparently stayed the entire night. Her limbs felt as if they were on fire; she could feel her spine shifting with discomfort. _

_ "You must be sore, too," she observed. "Why didn't you wake me?" _

_ By now, Draco had also sat up. He was stretching his legs and flexing his fingers to try loosening some of the stiffness from them. "You looked comfortable." _

_ She opened her mouth to protest but the memory of his words from the previous evening flooded back into her mind. Instead of chastising him further, she decided on, "I was. I like sleeping next to you." _

_ He chuckled quietly, glancing at her sidelong with a crooked grin. "Likewise. It was… actually more sleep than I've got at once, in a long time." _

_ Beaming at him, she glanced at the clock on their mantle. The fire had burned down to embers, but the room remained warm and cozy. With a sigh, she reluctantly reminded him, "We've got to get ready for class. Breakfast is only for another forty minutes and we don't even have our things from Ravenclaw Tower yet…" _

_ "Not before you've had a potion for pain," he insisted, standing at last. His movements were a bit stiff and Hermione thought he was probably in desperate need of one, himself. "I've got a few stored here, for just in case…" _

_ Opening up some of their mostly empty cabinets, he pulled the cork from a small vial of blue potion. Privately, she reflected that this was as nearly good as repeating what he had told her last night. Her eyes shone with the remembrance that she had told Draco she loved him, and he had admitted the same right back… _

"Pick a partner!" Professor Sprout called out as she ambled toward the assembled eighth years. She was levitating along an enormous bin full of disgusting maggoty-looking worms that effectively killed Hermione's daydream-buzz. "We're feeding the Carnivorous Eletteas today, two to a plant."

She glanced toward Theo, whose expression seemed to clearly say:  _ Told you so _ .

Ron predictably slid toward Harry. Considering the events of yesterday, Hermione was especially unsurprised. For a moment, her gaze caught Draco's, but Zabini was nearby and watching them both closely.

"Partner me?" she queried, her eyes flickering to Theo.

"Of course, princess."

"Inside, everyone, inside," Professor Sprout ushered once the door to the greenhouse had opened.

Hermione's stomach grumbled loudly as she and Theodore picked a work-station for class. She again wished Ginny had not kept her from breakfast.

As he opened his bookbag to retrieve his gloves, Theo pulled out a folded napkin he had clearly taken from the Great Hall. He handed it over to Hermione, who looked up at him questioningly before she took it. She unfolded the cloth; it contained a massive croissant from breakfast.

He winked at her astonished expression. "Knew you'd need it, didn't I?"

.

.

Hermione had Charms after lunch, followed by a free block before she was to meet Ginny. Just as Ron indicated earlier that morning, Professor Flitwick had indeed spent a good portion of their class going over what they would need to review for their final examinations.

Afterward, Hermione had a mild panic attack at the very thought of her Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests and immediately set off to prepare study guides for herself, despite that she had over four months before she would need to sit for any actual exams. She soon worked herself into a tizzy and because of this, she was very slightly late for meeting Ginny on the third floor landing.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she apologized, skidding to a halt in front of her friend. "I started making NEWT study guides and lost track of the time!"

Ginny eyed her suspiciously, but bit back whatever caustic comment was clearly on the tip of her tongue. "Why the third floor landing?"

Hermione's plan was simple: she had to prove to Ginny that she was hiding nothing, and the best way to do this was… to hide nothing. "I want to show you something. Come on."

The redhead followed dutifully down the third-floor corridor. For no apparent reason, there were no classrooms currently in use on this floor, so there was never much reason to come there. As Hermione turned down the hallway lined with statues, Ginny's interest was piqued. They came to a stop in front of the door to the married suite.

"Brought a friend this time, have we?" the gargoyle quizzed.

" _ Augh _ !" Ginny cried, leaping backward.

"Eagle's nest," Hermione answered politely.

The gargoyle rolled its eyes but begrudgingly leapt aside all the same.

Dubiously eyeing the entrance, Ginny wondered, "What is this place?"

"Come in and I'll show you. I don't really want to linger in the hallway."

The girls entered into the circular stone room and Hermione went immediately to the coffee table still covered in her numerous staging dishes from the day she had executed Golpalott's theorem to pull apart the truth-compelling powder. Using her wand to levitate the samples, she searched for an empty surface. She was forced to resituate the abundance of items right back where they had come from, however, when she realized the only other place was covered in the rest of her alchemy notes and letters.

"Hang on, let me move some things to make an area…"

Ginny was taking in the room with wide eyes. "Hermione, do you  _ live _ here…?"

"Not exactly. Professor McGonagall gave it to me and Draco after the feast when we got back from holiday. Apparently the Ministry automatically sends a notice to Hogwarts whenever two of its students marry."

"Right." She was taking in every detail of the room, assaulting the couch with a particularly hesitant eye. "Is it safe to sit here, or have you two shagged over every inch of it?"

"Ginny!"

"I don't  _ know _ anymore, Hermione!"

"The couch is fine," she vouchsafed, sinking onto it herself.

Once the girls were comfortable, Hermione filled her friend in on her latest adventures. She began the story with the Bridemeet – Ginny was impressed at her audacity in standing up to Lucius Malfoy and the burning of his marriage document – then continued on to the wedding, her visit to Paris over the weekend, and ended with meeting the Comte de Saint-Germain.

"So you think you're going to try it?" the redhead pressed. "This… quintessence thing?"

"It's a long shot," Hermione admitted. "A lot of it is just theory, honestly."

Ginny folded her arms across her chest and fixed her friend with a discerning gaze. "I thought the only reason you and Malfoy got married in the first place, was because you were going to try divorce?"

Hermione chewed her lip; she had been doing it so often in the past twenty-four hours that she had raised a lump there. "That's the thing: neither of us really want that anymore… we kind-of, sort-of fell in love."

Her friend let out a low whistle. "Draco Malfoy... in love. That seems… I don't know… uncharacteristic?"

"Trust me, I know."

"So you're going to try to stay married to him?"

"We haven't  _ officially _ decided anything. But probably, yes."

Nodding sagely, Ginny recalled, "Mum once told me that when witches and wizards divorce, it negates the blessing of marriage, which can never be properly renewed again between the same people. I think she was thinking of Bill and Fleur..."

"I looked into that," Hermione admitted, nervously picking at the buckle of her bookbag where it rested beside her on the couch. "It would be impossible to marry one another a second time if we divorced, unless we did a Muggle ceremony."

"I don't really see the Malfoys going along with that option," Ginny confessed. “Or many people, really.”

Shaking her head, Hermione agreed, "I don't think they would either. Draco might, for my sake; but there are other reasons to keep an initial marriage blessing intact if it can be helped. It strengthens an entire family's magic, for one."

Ginny ran her tongue across the front of her teeth, a pensive look on her face, before testing out, "Hermione Malfoy."

With a small smile at hearing her married name aloud, Hermione pressed, "You'll have to get to know him."

Ginny wrinkled her nose, but assented, "I'll try."

"There's one other thing…" Hermione continued hesitantly.

The story of writing to the sisters from India came out, and what they suggested.

"…And I know Noctua can’t possibly return in less than a week and a half, and that's if she takes very little rest the whole way, and if the sisters respond nearly immediately..."

Wide-eyed, Ginny demanded, "What did Malfoy say? I bet he liked that option."

"Actually, I haven't told him yet."

All at once, her expression darkened. "That is  _ so _ wrong, Hermione. I can't believe I'm siding with Malfoy over you, on anything - but you  _ need _ to tell him."

"Right, because  _ that _ won't be an awkward conversation," Hermione griped sarcastically.

"It doesn't matter," Ginny insisted. "He should know."

Though Hermione shrugged in an effort to affect nonchalance, her friend's reminder had solidly begun the stirrings of guilt in her gut. "I guess I just wanted to wait... to see what the response suggests. What's the point in bringing it up if it might not work in the first place?"

"I can't decide if I'm more annoyed that you're keeping secrets from everyone equally, or pleased that even your own husband has to deal with your mistrust in him. Or maybe I'm still mostly pissed off I never got to even go to Paris with the rest of you."

"I'm really sorry, Ginny, I just…"

But here, she was interrupted. "None of that. If you start apologizing, it's going to be like I'm still mad at you – and honestly, I already did that today, and don't really want to start again. Besides, you're going to need to save that for Malfoy when he finds out you're keeping information from him. Speaking as a Slytherin, I can tell you this: he will  _ not _ be happy when he finds out. But enough of that, let's talk about something else."

"If you like. Did Slytherin win the Quidditch match?"

"Oh right, I forgot you weren't there! We just scraped by… only ten points. Basically, Ravenclaw will play Hufflepuff in the next game and then we play Gryffindor after. But unless Hufflepuff wins by over 250 points and Gryffindor beats us by 410, it'll be eagles versus snakes in the finals. Harry played really well. We were down one of our usual Chasers, so…"

Hermione smiled, basking in the normalcy of listening to her friend wax on about her favorite sport.

It was not much longer before Ginny noticed the conversation had become exceptionally one-sided. "Right, sorry. I know Quidditch isn't really your thing."

"It's okay," Hermione smiled.

"I decided to sit for my NEWTs this year," she offered.

"Really?"

"Yep. McGonagall gave options to the seventh years: we can either do an eighth year like your class did, or take them with you lot at the end of May. I'm doing them – there's no way I'm coming back for another year, without Harry. OWL students get to decide, too. Speaking of… let me see your star charts?"

Hermione chuckled, reaching for her bookbag. "Of course."

As the seventh and eighth years had nearly the same curriculum, the two friends worked on filling in their Astronomy diagrams together. It was another quarter of an hour before the door scraped open again. Ginny's eyebrows raised and she looked quickly to Hermione for guidance.

"Be nice," she mouthed pleadingly.

A moment later Draco sauntered in through the doorway, loosening the Ravenclaw tie from around his neck; Hermione's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. She loved the way he looked in blue and bronze.

He stopped in the doorway and threw up his defenses when he realized the room was occupied. "What in Merlin's name is  _ she _ doing in here, Hermione? This is meant to be a private space; I'm not interested in sharing anything with the She-Weasel."

"I am going to throw this sextant at your eye," Ginny promised sweetly, brandishing her weapon of choice. Her star maps were still spread out over her lap. "And I am going to laugh when it sticks and you can no longer blink."

"Ginny," Hermione groaned, "can't you be nice?"

"He was rude first!"

Draco turned to Hermione with a querulous look and drawled, "Is she always so bloodthirsty?"

She shook her head, "Actually it appears to have developed as a backlash from being both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Apparently those two things don't mix well."

He cast her an odd look and she could physically feel the old barrier of coldness rise up between them. It was somewhat terrifying how he looked strikingly similar to his father when he uttered, "Oh?"

"Lighten up a bit, Malfoy, eh?" Ginny teased. "There's no way I can even attempt to be on good terms with you if you're going to be a stuffed shirt all the time."

"Are we attempting to be on good terms?"

"Well you're married to my best friend, aren't you?"

Draco smirked slowly, the icy mask less prominent. He fixed his wife with an intense gaze that bespoke an intimate familiarity, "That's true."

" _ Ugh _ , you two are weirdly cute together," Ginny conceded with a knowing grin of her own.

"Was that approval?" Hermione fake-gasped, pretending to look appalled.

" _ Tentative _ approval," her friend corrected, glancing sidelong at Draco, "pending one or two things."

"From a Weasley, I consider that to be a glowing review," he drawled sarcastically. Then, to Hermione, "It's about time for dinner. We have rounds after."

"Right." Gathering her things, Hermione began stuffing her Astronomy charts back into their rightful folders and storing them neatly in her bag.

"Is that code for the two of you groping one another behind a tapestry, or do you actually do your prefect rounds?"

"Why, Weaslette," Draco gasped sneeringly, "would we need to use a tapestry when we have perfectly adequate privacy right here in this chamber?"

Ginny's nose wrinkled and she made a gagging noise, but a heat ignited near Hermione's sacrum at the words combined with the look of dark promise in Draco's eyes.

"Oi!" the redhead interrupted, snapping her fingers to break the fever beginning to rage between them. "I'm still here!"

"Fortunately, that has a simple remedy," Draco pointed out icily.

"Trust me, I'm going. I want no part of this whatsoever."

"I'll come down to dinner with you, if you like?" Hermione queried.

"Not when Malfoy is staring at you like that, you're not. It's like he's trying to get you pregnant from across the room."

"That's not...! It's not even...!"

"Possible?" Ginny suggested dryly, standing from the couch and shouldering her bag. "Yeah, I didn't think so either, but I think I'll reevaluate. See you around, Malfoy, yeah? Hermione..."

Moments later, she was gone.

"She left," Draco observed, dropping his school bag onto the floor by the coffee table as he crossed the room toward her. His blue-and-bronze uniform tie shortly followed it.

"I think she likes you."

He cocked an eyebrow and took her hands in his. "What makes you say that?"

Shrugging, it was hard to put thoughts into explanations when keen anticipation was building in her veins at his touch. "You'd have to know her to understand. She wouldn't have said a word if she was set against us being together."

"Mm," he murmured, bending slightly to nuzzle at the slender column of her throat with his nose. "While I'm sure the understanding of the Weaslette's mind is a fascinating subject, I have a better thought..."

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned into his chest, enjoying the heady sensations tensing her body. Dinner quite forgotten, she breathily rasped out, "Oh?"

He smirked so widely, the mischief met his eyes. "Oh yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prodigious appreciation to everyone who left me a comment. Your support and kindness are instrumental in keeping me plugging along at this monster of a fic.
> 
> Colossal thanks is also due to my beta, I_was_BOTWP, for catching several embarrassing mistakes.


	58. Silent Storm

**** Foreplay began in their suite, but carried over into dinner. All throughout her evening meal, Hermione could feel Draco's eyes on her. She had sat at a Slytherin bench with Harry, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Hannah, but her mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was at the Ravenclaw table, where a certain wizard was seated directly in her line of vision. She knew Draco well enough by now to suspect that he had chosen that place with intention. This was confirmed when, during dessert, he dipped his spoon into his custard and popped it into his mouth, only to make eye contact when he pulled it back out and taking care to lick away anything left.

She hastily looked down, her cheeks reddening. Ginny, perceptive as ever, noticed and glanced over her shoulder. By then, Draco had returned to his conversation with Blaise, looking relatively innocuous. But Ginny was no fool and rolled her eyes, clearly guessing at what had transpired.

Afterward, Hermione and Draco traipsed separately - but simultaneously - up to Ravenclaw Tower with some of the stragglers from dinner. A group of them had clustered at the top landing, where several students had tried at the riddle and failed.

Curious, Hermione pressed herself up onto the balls of her feet to make herself taller, as if seeing the eagle head door-knocker would allow her to hear better. It repeated, "I have several hearts, but I do not live."

A hand pressing onto her lower back startled her and she whirled around, only to find Draco behind her, his expression smug.

"A field of lettuce!" a second-year guessed wildly.

"How did that one get sorted here?" Draco whispered indignantly into her ear. "A Hufflepuff could've answered better…"

Hermione would have loved to come up with a witty retort but she was perfectly distracted by his fingers, which were now making slow, even strokes up her spine.

"A deck of cards," a studious-looking upperclassman guessed.

The door opened, admitting the small cluster of students. Hermione wanted to head inside, but she also did not want to forgo his touching. It was therefore with some disappointment, that Draco's tantalizing hand dropped away and he headed into the common room without her.

_ He is going to pay for that _ , she decided, heading up to her dormitory for her prefect badge. She was sure she could find a way, as it was time for patrols.

"Hermione!" Sue exclaimed when she made an appearance. The girl was reclining on her four-poster with a battered copy of  _ Quidditch Through the Ages _ . "Where were you last night?"

"Oh – sorry," she apologized, shaking herself back into the present as she grabbed her badge from her nightstand. Even her perfectly made bed seemed to stare at her accusingly. "I was in the Hospital Wing."

"Again?" Padma queried, concerned. She was sitting at the edge of her own bed, where Lisa was plaiting her long hair. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes," she continued the lie. "It was nothing really. Stomach bug."

Lisa nodded, her eyes wide with concern, though her fingers did not stop moving through Padma's dark curtain of hair. "I heard Finora Belby had the stomach bug earlier this week. Maybe you caught it from her!"

Hermione – who had never heard of Finora Belby, let alone spent time with her – only nodded, "Yes, maybe. Well, I'm off to patrols. Don't you ladies wait up!"

Her three roommates only looked oddly at her as she took off. It was only after she had shut the door behind her that she realized she had forgotten her school robes to wear over her uniform. She cursed silently, but headed down the staircase anyway.

Her plan to find some release over the course of the evening continued without a hitch; Draco seemed all too willing to play the game.

As they meandered about the castle, they each continued to up the ante. He came up very close behind her as they peered into an empty classroom, while her hand skimmed his thigh when they checked behind a tapestry cloaking a hidden alcove. They continued these small grazing caresses, passing them off unconvincingly as accidents, until Hermione felt positive that her hair was standing on end with frustration.

Moments before she was ready to break down and snog him up against the wall right in the middle of the hallway, Draco pulled her down the third floor corridor.

Sensing his intent, she coyly remarked, "We never patrol down here."

"Tonight we do."

A fire lit between her thighs, stoked to life by the embers that had been building there all evening. "Okay."

A moment later, he was impatiently barking, "Eagle's nest," to the guardian, and pulling her inside.

Deciding to continue her coquettish ignorance of what he was about, she questioned, "Any particular reason you brought me here, Draco?"

"You know damn well for what reason I brought you here, wife," he growled, before pressing his lips needfully to hers.

Gasping with the gratification of finally kissing him after hours of back-and-forth teasing, her moan of satisfaction was unstoppable. Draco pulled her roughly against him and guided her back until she touched the nearest wall. The stones were rough against her skin, but she barely noticed when there were more important things to focus on, like his tongue diving into her mouth. His hands were everywhere at once, tracing every inch of her through her uniform before reaching up and pulling her into his chest as he began an assault on her neck.

Vaguely, she noted that he was still maneuvering them along the room, but it was hard to focus when he was doing such sinful things to every pulse point within reach of his mouth. From the hollow of her collarbone to the dip of her jaw, he licked, nipped, and caressed until she began to go quite mad with wanting. They passed through a doorway, her head hitting the wood of the frame as they went, but not registering what that meant.

He continued guiding her back until her bottom hit something that was both very soft and very solid. Her hand scrambled behind her for purchase, and her fingers dug into the bedspread. That was as far as her mind got before his hand cradled her neck, fingers burying into her mussed curls. She whimpered again with need – a sound that did not entirely sound like it had come from her – but it only perpetuated his brazenness.

A maelstrom of keen anticipation was swirling between them as they fell back onto the previously untouched bed. A warning bell sounded quietly in the back of Hermione's mind.

Ignoring it, she keened lowly as his mouth worked its way down her neck and collarbone. He peeled away the outer sweater of her uniform and she could hear the  _ ping _ of her prefect badge as it flew across the room and hit an unknown piece of furniture. It didn't matter in the slightest – not when his fingers were picking open each of the buttons on her undershirt and his lips were pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on the skin between her breasts.

"Draco…" she panted, her mind positively fuzzy with inhibition.

But his sinful hands were now travelling up her thighs, pushing her skirt up to her waist. He breathed out, "Okay?"

"More than," she blurted, leaning forward to grab a fistful of what was tenting the front of his trousers.

He groaned and thrust into her hand twice before she began working at his zipper.

"Hermione…"

She was already primed to combust, when his erection sprang free. Faced with it, she licked her lips and made brief eye contact before bending down and swirling her tongue along the tip – something she had done before, and noted that he seemed to like.

"Hermione…"

"Mmm?" she managed, applying a gentle pressure down his length with her tongue.

To her surprise, he nudged her back onto the bed and climbed atop her, only to begin kissing her in a much gentler manner. One of his hands hooked around the back of her knee, while the other trailed the backs of his knuckles up her neck. The softest kiss yet made her quiver.

"Please?" It was the quietest question she had ever heard.

She swallowed heavily, knowing what he wanted from her. The alarm that had sounded in the back of her mind earlier was now blaring loudly, and the veneer of lust that had coated her sensory functions was siphoning away.

"We can't," she gasped, turning her head away.

_ That is so wrong, Hermione… you need to tell him… _ Ginny's berating words from only hours ago filled her mind, as she felt him shift off of her.

The midnight blue of the bedspread filled her vision and she felt herself beginning to tear up.  _ He will hate me. _

But at the same time, she knew she had made this figurative bed. Perhaps now, it was finally time to lie in it.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, having backed off completely except to play with one of her curls. "I didn't mean to push you. I just thought…"

"It's not you," she bit out, stifling a sob.

A layer of amusement played about his mouth, but when Hermione faced him, she could see her rejection lingering beneath the façade. "Is this the part where you tell me that it isn't me, it's you?"

"Believe me," she told him earnestly, propping herself up on an elbow, "I want to."

"But?"

Telling Draco everything felt an awful lot like removing a vital bandage that was keeping all of her guts inside of her: the more she revealed, the more she wanted just to die. She told him of the letter she had received months ago, about how she had corresponded with the sister-alchemists… she explained the mechanics of their theory, of the kundalini energy, of what it would mean for the two of them as a couple… of what they could potentially achieve.

Draco remained silent. When she was done, she felt as if she were completely empty, like there was a hole in her stomach that widened every time she breathed, letting out a putrid stink that had been festering there – allowing uncertainty and disease to take its place.

The look on his face was enough to make her feel utterly hollow.

"I see," he said coldly, "and when were you planning on telling me all this?"

"I was going to wait until Noctua returned and I heard back," she desperately tried to explain, "until I was sure it was actually an option, before bringing it up."

He said nothing for several moments, though Hermione could practically hear the cogs of his brain working in overdrive. Finally, in a voice so deadly calm it nearly screamed how incensed he was, he uttered, "I suppose that's the worst thing about betrayal: it never comes from an enemy."

There were no strong words, no shouting. He did not even storm out. But when he left, the door to their suite shutting quietly behind him, she fervently wished he had.

.

.

For some time after Draco left, Hermione sat on the empty bed they had nearly shared, crying her heart out. She was angry with herself, frustrated that she had not seen this coming. There was nothing to give her solace.

Eventually, she trudged up to Ravenclaw Tower alone, grateful that its inhabitants were mostly in bed. There, she collapsed onto her four-poster, still in her disheveled clothes, and cast a Silencing Charm on the drawn curtains so she could scream into her pillow for several minutes. Ginny had always claimed that this was helpful in releasing pent-up anger, but Hermione did not feel any better afterward.

The next morning, she did not even want to get out of bed. Draco utterly ignored her in Charms.

Feeling miserable, it was a moment before she registered that Daphne had unexpectedly sat beside her, instead of Theo. She almost expected her friend to comment on her tangle of hair, unceremoniously thrown into a ponytail with her lack of caring.

What she absolutely did not expect, was the announcement, "I broke up with Ron."

"What?"

"I'm going to assume you're not actually asking me to repeat myself, but rather, making an exclamation of surprise and alarm," Daphne responded sarcastically as she pulled her textbook from her bag.

Hermione thought her friend looked dull, also rather unwell. "What happened?"

She shrugged, "I didn't like how he handled himself last weekend. I guess it just kind of drove home the point that he's never going to get past his Slytherin bias. I don't think I can live with that."

Hermione blanched, "Oh, Merlin… he is going to blame it all on me."

Sharply, the former-Slytherin demanded, "Why would he do that? How would it be your fault?"

"He will."

She was not wrong.

After Charms with the Gryffindors, Hermione usually waited for Harry and Ron on the landing so the three of them could walk down to Herbology together. Today, she was not looking forward to it. Especially in her current mental state.

Upon spotting her, Ron broke his streak of not speaking to her, and spit out, "Thanks a lot, Hermione. It isn't enough to have your own messed-up relationship with the Great Bouncing Ferret – you've got to ruin other peoples' relationships, too. Well I hope you're happy… because as I'm sure Daphne already told you, she broke it off with me this morning!"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but he had already stormed off. She blinked, and despite having known something to that effect was headed her way, she felt like crying again.

Harry, who had been walking with Ron, approached next. Before he could say a word, she rounded on him, "I suppose you're going to take his side?"

"Of course not," he answered quietly. "Not even Ron really believes what he just said."

Her shoulders relaxed a little, but the corners of her eyes still stung. "You would think, after everything the three of us went through last year, he would trust me a little not to have it out for his relationship… I liked him with Daphne."

Harry's silence on the matter was a little eerie.

"What?" she burst out, her heart beginning to race a little frantically with her frayed nerves.

Harry shrugged, "You would think, that after everything the three of us went through last year… you would have told us you were planning to marry Malfoy."

Stopping in the middle of the staircase, she gaped at him. "I said I was sorry, Harry."

He shrugged again and kept walking, but it was as if her feet had grown roots. He looked back only once, noted that she had not moved, and continued to class without her anyway. Hermione watched him go until he became an undistinguishable part of the crowd of black-robed students making their way toward their late-morning classes.

She did not make it to Herbology. Instead, she recognized the horrible, familiar panicked sensation building in her chest for what it was, and rushed back up the staircase toward the third floor. Her heart was beating faster now, her vision becoming dizzy.

_ Breathe, Hermione, _ she reminded herself as she gasped. A passing Hufflepuff glanced oddly at her as she rushed to the landing at the top of the staircase.

"Just get to the room," she reminded herself under her breath as she stumbled down the third floor corridor.  _ And don't forget to breathe… in… out… in… that's it… _

The gargoyles all looked the same... even though they didn't, really. She tried to reach into her memory to recognize the correct one, but it was almost as if her waking consciousness was inaccessible while her mind was tried to keep itself from unraveling and reducing her to an unmade heap on the floor.

"Eagle's nest!" she gasped when she felt she must be somewhere near the right place.

"You got it," the gargoyle replied. It actually sounded worried about her and she heard the sound of scraping as its stone pedestal jumped to the side.

She looked around, fuzzily focusing on the place that had opened up, and realized she had overshot by two or three statues.

Stumbling back toward the waiting doorway, she barely rasped out, "Thanks" before she crashed through and collapsed on the braided rug in a sobbing mess.

.

.

It felt like many hours later that the pedestal scraped aside again to produce Draco. He looked wary, but hastened forward when he spotted Hermione in proper state, wrapped up with her arms around herself in the center of the room. She was sure her hair was a fright, curly and huge from running her hands through it obsessively.

He crossed the room and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hermione?"

"I can't help it!" she exclaimed wildly. Her cheeks were blotchy and tearstained; her eyes were red.

"What happened? It's not like you to miss Herbology."

"The Fat Lady!" she burst out. "She wouldn't let me in!"

It was his turn to look bewildered and ask, "What?"

"In my nightmare – the Fat Lady wouldn't let me in!"

"You had a nightmare? When?" His eyes scanned the area, then roved back to her, "Have you had a panic attack?"

She nodded vigorously, still clearly shaken. "Just now… she wouldn't let me in. She said I wasn't a Gryffindor anymore and she wouldn't let me in. I even asked her nicely – I said, 'please just let me in, just for a few minutes and I vow I will leave' – and she refused!"

Shaking his head with what was apparently incoherent to him, Draco went to the far cabinets where he had stored a few Potions. He poured a half-teaspoonful of Dreamless Sleep and helped Hermione drink some. Helping her to stagger toward the bedroom, he laid her down just as her entire body had begun to grow heavy. Within moments, she was fast asleep…

.

.

When she came to, Hermione felt as if she had been plowed over by the Hogwarts Express. Her eyes fluttered open and she groaned as she unsteadily raised herself into a sitting position.

"Good, you're up."

Her eyes focused on Draco, who had conjured a chair from somewhere and was sitting halfway across the room from the bed, glasses on and reading a book. He looked every inch the perfect Ravenclaw.

Shakily, as if unsure she were really seeing him, she questioned, "Before... did you give me something?"

"Dreamless Sleep," he explained neutrally, not rising from his seat. "I used to keep it around for myself, but it turns out you can build up an immunity to it. I only gave you a small dose. You've been out for about twenty minutes."

"I… thank you," she stammered.

He inclined his head, but still did not move from his seat. With how far away he was, it felt very impersonal, so Hermione wrapped her arms around herself.

"You didn't come to Herbology. It's unlike you."

She shut her eyes, hugging herself tighter.

"Theo told me I should check on you."

She opened her eyes again to look up at the ceiling. "That's so lucky. I haven't had a panic attack that bad since during the war… I remember passing out on the floor, but I must have drifted into a dream from there, because I woke myself back up with a nightmare…"

She sheepishly tried to look anywhere but at him, but he only continued to regard her cautiously. Finally, he asked, "Who's the Fat Lady?"

"Oh," she blushed as she recalled fragmented pieces of the nightmare, which she had half-coherently babbled aloud. "She's a portrait that guards Gryffindor Tower. You have to give her a password. In my dream, I didn't know it... so she wouldn't let me in."

"A portrait!" he exclaimed, shutting his book with a snap and setting it aside. "You're telling me this is all because of a portrait of some fat tart?"

Ruefully, she shook her head, "Of course not. It's like this: Daphne broke up with Ron and now he's blaming me. Harry initially took my side but then he got angry with me, too. I don't think either of them is speaking to me. On top of that, you’re also mad at me," she added in a near-whisper, "and I deserved it  _ all… _ "

"Witch," he hissed, standing from his seat to cross over to the bed, "you are going to be the absolute death of me."

Sitting beside her, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head before pulling her into his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Draco. It's just… somewhere along the way, it became important to me that you think highly of me. I didn't know how to handle myself when that stopped."

He sighed deeply and stroked some of her curls away from her face, "In case you ever foolishly forget again, Hermione, I am never  _ not _ thinking highly of you."

Quietly, she said, "You didn't seem to think so last night, when I told you about that letter."

"No," he agreed, twisting a curl around his finger to pull it down and watch it spring back up. She was surprised he had found a bit of hair that was behaving, as she was sure the rest of it was a veritable mess. "I felt betrayal more than anything."

She only nodded, feeling miserable.

"Is it so important to you, that we speak to these women?"

She looked up to find him contemplating her with veiled emotions. Knowing that nothing would suffice but the truth, she answered honestly, "It took me a long time to be comfortable with the idea of hearing from them, but I think we should at least listen to what they have to say."

He stiffened, "I hate the idea."

"I don't want to divorce you," she told him plainly. "What if I can't figure out what the Comte was trying to explain to me? It's a convoluted endeavor at best. We are obviously physically attracted to one another, and I think that I, at least, am ready to take that step with you. Based off of our intimacy last night, I thought you were ready, too. It doesn't make a difference to me if it's in a mandala."

"I hate it," he repeated with vim, eyebrows contracted stubbornly. But he softened somewhat when he subsequently admitted, "But I don't want to divorce you, either."

"Would you at least be willing to hear what these alchemists have to say?"

He seemed to be fighting with himself for a few moments, saying nothing. Finally, he sighed deeply through his nose and looked up to meet her eyes before gritting out, "Fine."

Hermione smiled tentatively; she had been so dejected for so many hours that when her lips curled upward, it felt like her face was cracking open. "I appreciate that, Draco."

"I said I would  _ listen _ ," he clarified. "I'm agreeing to nothing more right now."

"I know," she nodded.

"No more secrets?"

It was a small plea, but she wholeheartedly recognized where he was coming from. She confirmed, "No more secrets. In fact, if I recall, I never made good on that promise to show you all of the information I've collected so far…"

"No," he agreed, "you didn't."

"I can do that right now, if you want," she offered. Then, frowning, she glanced out the window toward the grounds, "Although we're missing Herbology…"

He waved this away, "I have no interest in Herbology. I only have interest in you."

She tenderly kissed his cheek. "I don't deserve you."

Like butter melting, his caustic manner dissolved and he reached out to pull her in, meeting her lips and kissing her unguardedly. It was needy but not frantic, passionate but not rough, and it tasted of things that had finally been said after so long waiting. When he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers. "I love you."

"I love you so much, it scares me," she admitted right back.

Jerking his head in the direction of their living space, he enticed, "Come on. Let's look at everything you've collected. I want to see what we're working with..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long time coming, but finally, everything is out on the table! I'd love to hear what you think so far - and thank you to everyone who left remarks.
> 
> Quick shout-out also to MotherofBulls for sitting down with my horrendously messy plot and helping me make some serious decisions about what I want to do with this fic, going forward. Thank you!
> 
> I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.


	59. Rumors

**** "So you're saying it all comes down to commonality?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "Alchemical theory states that all solids, liquids, gases, plasmas - and in the magical world, powders - are the same on their most basic levels."

Her notes were spread out before them on the floor, which was the largest available space. The forty-plus dishes containing ingredients from the day she had pulled apart the truth-compelling powder were still jammed together and stacked precariously over their coffee table. She sat up on her knees, poring over the documents, while Draco leaned toward her, glasses slowly sliding from their perch toward on the end of his nose as he examined the notes she had taken from her conference with the Comte de Saint-Germain in Paris.

He pushed the bridge of his glasses back into place, rifling through a few pages of hasty sketches she had made, and questioned, "Does the Muggle world not include powders?"

"No, powders are simply considered solids to Muggles; but in our world, a powder has its own magical properties that make it separate. McGonagall taught that to us in…"

"...Our first class," he recalled absently. Then, looking thoughtful, he conceded, "Of course."

"Yes," she confirmed. "Germain only reinforced the importance of that when I spoke to him in Paris."

Draco's mouth became very thin and his nostrils flared - a sure tell for him - but he made no comment. He set aside the stack of parchment and picked up a new stack, this time of response letters from the various international alchemists Hermione had written.

"If we use the truth-detecting stones in my bracelet, along with the Veritaserum and Rowena's truth-compelling powder, we can find the common cornerstone in how they work." She began dictating like she was reading a dissertation while flipping through an enormous folio of more notes. "We would first need to find out what detects the truth in all of them. They're all compounds or solvents in some way… so it's what they're  _ mixed with _ that determines the differences between them..."

Nodding, Draco set the letter from Mozambique aside before perusing the response from China. "Considering all three perform different variations of the same task, you're saying it's likely there's a common ingredient or enchantment in its make-up. I see where you're going with this, Hermione, but…"

"If we discover the common point in these less-volatile items," she continued, lost in speculation, "we can use that same praxis to break down the Three Essentials. Because those are more volatile items however, we should limit our exposure to them."

"Right," he agreed practically, "but…"

"If we can do  _ that _ , we can make a concoction that would simply  _ dissolve _ the Three Essentials, which are still affecting our bodies through the magic that binds us."

"Yes, but…"

"Thus rendering it ineffective!" she prattled on, oblivious. "Germain helped me work out some clues - and I was right about Golpalott's Law being important, too. It comes down to compounds and solvents."

"Hermione…"

"The Laws state that liquid poisons are stronger and more complex than powdered ones," she pressed. "Slughorn taught us that in..."

"...Our sixth year," he interrupted, looking faintly amused.

She raised her eyebrows at him, "Is something funny?"

"I was just wondering if this is what Potter and Weasley got to listen to all these years… and if they ever understood a word of what you said…" At the protest forming on her lips, he rectified, "Not that I'm in a position to say much, considering they  _ did _ help me find you when you did a runner in Paris."

"I said I was…"

"...Sorry," he finished for her. "I know. Please, continue - because it almost sounds like what you're trying to brew is mithridate."

She blinked, unfamiliar with the term. "What is mithridate?"

A triumphant smirk spread across his lips like oil on water. "What's this? I know something the Great Swot doesn't?"

Hermione huffed impatiently, " _ Everyone _ knows something someone else doesn't know, Draco… Now, what is mithridate?"

Clearly entertained by her, he answered, "It's an elixir believed to cure every poison known to man, and achieved through alchemy."

Brow furrowed, Hermione frowned deeply. "It sounds an awful lot like the Elixir of Life; that was supposed to be able to bring a person back to life, even…"

"...from the brink of death," he finished for her. "It's not the same thing exactly, but there are certainly similarities between the two. It is probably at least half as difficult to make as a philosopher's stone."

They let that hang in the air between them, and for a moment, each was lost to their own thoughts.

"The thing is, Hermione," Draco began, looking tentative lest she interrupt him again, "don't you remember what McGonagall taught us in class about breaking down elements?"

"I don't think I…"

"'An element cannot be broken down into something simpler: this we learn from Muggle chemistry'," he parroted back. * Understanding gripped him suddenly, "Actually, that was the class you missed the day you rediscovered Ravenclaw's study."

What confidence she had in her plan seemed to crack a little, small shards falling out of place all around her. Crestfallen, she murmured, "So… my plan…"

"Has a lot of what-ifs."

"This is why we need the back-up plan, Draco." Her eyes pleaded with him. "I know you don't want to listen to Upadhyaya sisters, but…"

"...There's only a slim chance the Comte's help is useful," he finished for her. With a frank look, he fixed on her eyes, "People spend their whole lives trying to create mithridate, or attempting to master the Elixir of Life… we could be in our seventies by the time we were successful… or not at all..."

"That's why I think it's so important we listen to these women," she opined, touching his arm.

"I know what you're saying is true," he agreed, though unsmiling. "As my mother would say, we have two options."

"What do you mean?" she queried, drawing back at the mere mention of Narcissa Malfoy.

As if he could guess her hesitation with regard to his mother, Draco shrugged. "She just used to always say that in any given moment, there were always two options: step forward into growth, or backward into safety."

Hesitantly, she admitted, "That…  _ is _ good advice.

"I'm not sure it's advice; it's more like an observation." With a sigh, he added, "You don't have to convince me, you know. About the sister-alchemists. I've already said I'll listen."

She thought back on yesterday's words, spoken in the aftermath of the heat they shared,  _ Believe me, I want to. _

They were as true now as they were then.

.

.

Following lunch, Hermione opted to retreat to the Ravenclaw dormitory before afternoon classes for a shower and change, as her uniform was still drenched with sweat from her earlier panic attack. But upon closing the dormitory door behind her, she unknowingly had shut herself into a contained battlefield.

"...Conniving bitch!"

"Sue, please calm down," Lisa attempted, her wide eyes fearful.

"Like  _ hell _ I will!" the small girl exploded, her face scarlet with anger. Sue was pointing an accusatory finger at Daphne, who despite her size advantage, was utterly silent in the face of her dorm-mate's ire.

"What's going on in here?" Padma questioned, poking her head in from the girls' shared bathroom with only a tightly wrapped towel to cover herself.

"This  _ snake _ went and stole my man," Sue yelled, "that's what!"

"I keep trying to tell you," Daphne attempted pleadingly, "Blaise Zabini is one-hundred-percent  _ not _ interested in me…"

"Like I'm going to believe a word that comes out of your mouth!"

"Please, I've known him for most of my life. I know how he can be..."

"Daphne just went through a break-up of her own, Sue," Padma reasoned, her long hair dripping onto the midnight blue carpet where she stood. "I’d imagine that she's hardly in the right frame of mind to be moving on so quickly…"

Unsure exactly what she had walked in on, but quickly piecing together a shrewd assumption based off what she was hearing, Hermione queried, "What's going on, Sue?"

The tiny Ravenclaw pointed aggressively at Daphne with a shaking finger, "Your little  _ Slytherin project _ over there broke up with her sweet, Hufflepuff boyfriend. Then what happens, not even a day later? Blaise tells me he has to  _ stop seeing me _ because of  _ her _ !"

"It was just a line!" Daphne insisted. "I promise I'm not trying to insult you, it's just what Blaise  _ does _ , I swear!"

"For you to insult me, I would first have to value your opinion," Sue spat, "and I assure you, I  _ don't _ ."

"Please," the former-Slytherin whined again, sinking onto her bed with the inevitability of what was coming, "he does this sort of thing all the time..."

Quietly, Padma put in, "Didn't you go with him to the Halloween Dance, Daphne?"

"As  _ friends _ , which is what we are!"

Trying to make the others see reason, Hermione added, "Daphne has known Zabini a long time, Sue. Maybe she's telling the truth."

"Or maybe she's telling a bald-faced lie! But, of course… defend your new Slytherin friends, Granger. Getting awfully cozy with snakes these days, aren't you? All that time you spend with Nott, don't think no one notices…"

Lisa, who had been quiet up until that point, gasped.

Sue continued, "But then I suppose I can't really blame you for not choosing to make it public, considering who he  _ is… _ who his  _ father _ was. No one says anything to your face, Granger, but you and Theodore Nott have  _ obviously _ got a thing going on and  _ everyone knows it _ !"

With that, she stormed from the dormitory.

With a sigh, her hair still dripping from her shower and still clothed in only a towel, Padma turned to Lisa, "Can you go after her? I'll be along once I'm dressed."

Lisa cast a fearful look at Daphne, then at Hermione, and agreed, "Yeah, okay."

The door closed a second time. Shaking her head, Padma disappeared back into the bathroom to dress, leaving Daphne and Hermione alone. Hermione opened her mouth to reassure her friend, but was interrupted.

"Whatever righteous speech you've got prepared about House loyalties being unimportant after the war, Granger, save it."

Then Daphne, too, was gone.

Hermione sank onto the edge of her bed and looked around at the empty dormitory. It was hard to believe that only moments ago, a hurricane in the form of Sue Li had torn through the room. Moments later, Padma emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and performing a drying charm on her long hair.

"Do people really think I'm dating Theo?" Hermione asked curiously.

Tying her hair back into a hasty plait, Padma tilted an eyebrow at her dorm-mate, "Are you saying you aren't?"

"Of course not! We're friends."

"Right." The Ravenclaw girl fixed her with a skeptical stare and excused herself. "I've got to go find Sue… try to smooth all this over…"

Just like that, she was alone again.

.

.

Daphne did not return to the eighth year girls' dormitory that night, nor the next. She must have been there at some point, because her pile of laundry was missing and her textbooks were moved, but none of the other four girls saw her outside of class.

Meanwhile, Sue made it a point to tell everyone who would listen about how Daphne Greengrass had stolen her man before they had even become official. Zabini seemed to take no notice whatsoever.

Though she seemed mainly skeptical about Daphne's part in the fiasco, Padma had known Sue for seven years longer than she had been acquainted with Daphne, and so took her side. While Hermione attempted to take Daphne's angle, insisting that Blaise Zabini was merely a cad, it was clear she did not want sympathy.

Lisa did not seem to know who to side with, and tried to remain as neutral as possible.

The day after the argument, a rumor that Hermione and Theo were secretly an item began to spread like wildfire throughout the school. Hermione suspected Sue was behind it, given the girl's outburst.

"Wow, 'Mione, you look like Hades himself," Ginny told her two days later, at breakfast.

"So complimentary," she retorted sarcastically. She slammed her bookbag down onto the bench beside her with more force than was necessary.

Looking repentant and a bit sheepish, Ginny apologized, "Sorry. I suppose it has something to do with a certain rumor currently circulating that you're dating one Theodore Nott, ex-Slytherin?"

Hermione's murderous look must have confirmed her friend's words. Harry, who was sitting beside his girlfriend and had watched the entire exchange with wary eyes, commented, "Ironic, that… don't you think? The rumor mill is so close, but so far off. I suppose we shouldn't expect anything less from it."

Ginny hastily agreed, "The gossips in this place have never really managed to hit the mark."

"Ignore them, Hermione," Harry advised.

Hermione recognized the advice, as it was what she had told Harry, himself, in fifth year when the same rumor mill had convinced most of the student body that he was lying about Voldemort's return.

With that recollection of harder times, suddenly none of what was happened seemed so bad any longer. Not to mention, Harry seemed to be speaking to her again, which was progress. Her shoulders relaxed and she sat up straighter, "You're right, Harry."

He smiled, his emerald eyes crinkling at the corners. "I am?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Ignore them, she did. Hermione went to classes as usual, sitting beside Harry or Neville when she could; Ron was still not speaking to her. In Charms, she sat beside Theo, who looked surprised at the gesture.

"Not letting the gossips get to you, eh?" he joked, his eyes flickering about the room as whispers erupted from all corners around them.

"Of course not," she replied serenely, unloading her materials for class on their shared desk. "Anyway, it's certainly not the worst thing people have said about me. In fourth year, I was sent an envelope full of undiluted bubotuber pus just because Rita Skeeter decided I was dating both Harry  _ and _ Viktor Krum at the same time."

A half-hearted smile lifted one corner of Nott's mouth, "Good to know I rank higher than pus."

"Don't be ridiculous, Theodore," she chided, giving him a frank look. "We're friends. Otherwise, well… any girl would be lucky to date you."

Theo said nothing in response, as Flitwick chose that moment to begin class. When Hermione glanced at him however, his cheeks were colored a light pink and he seemed to be deep in thought.

.

.

As she was purposely avoiding the tense atmosphere of her dormitory, Hermione tried to spend as much time as possible out of it. When she was not in class she threw herself into her research, only emerging from hers and Draco's suite for eating and sleeping.

Today, she was using the same method as before to pull apart the Veritaserum. Thinking back to that night in Paris, a shivering thrill ran the length of her spine which she quickly doused.

_ Focus _ , she reminded herself, her eyes trained on the cauldron in front of her.

She knew that the very nature of the Three Essentials would mean that finding a commonality between them would be laughably volatile. That was why it was better to practice the theory on something that could go less awry before attempting the same praxis on trickier, finicky chemicals. In fact, in Muggle chemistry, it was impossible to break down elements like mercury or sulfur unless you had access to extremely specialized equipment.

_ It's easier with magic _ , she told herself for the hundredth time.

Thinking back to the pure beauty of the magic she and Draco had summoned on that night they had made their initial mandala brought a smile creeping to the corners of her lips.

The honest truth was that they were in a strange place as a couple. Despite having admitted that they were in love, and would endeavor to be friends, she and Draco still did not interact much in the public sphere, even around the peers that knew about them. The sole exception was Theo, and to some extent, Daphne.

_ What would happen if we stayed together, though? _ she liked to muse in her spare time. She had been desperately trying to figure out a way to unbind them without divorce, but her hard work was not a cure. It merely grew a skin over her desperation and crusted over it.

"There are options," she repeated for the tenth time that hour. It had somehow become less and less reassuring the more she said it, and she wished again that Noctua would hurry back with a response from India.

Reminding herself again to focus, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear as she consulted her text again as to the brewing of Golpalott's potion. When the potion was ready, she added a small amount of Veritaserum to the roiling liquid in the cauldron and began the tedious instructions for counter-brewing.

_ The truth-compelling powder: how does it force someone to tell random truths? _

_ The Veritaserum: how does it compel someone to tell the truth when prompted? _

_ The stones in the bracelet: how can they detect when someone is telling an untruth? _

Truth, truth, truth… The truth was, Hermione recognized that while the three substances were similar, they were a far cry from being the same.

There were fewer ingredients in the Veritaserum than there had been in the powder from Rowena's study, but it still took all of Hermione's attention. The fumes swiftly reduced her already-wild tumble of curls to a riotous mass.

It was in this state - just as before - that Draco came upon her.

"Have you been at it with the Potions again?" he inquired, coming to a stop in front of her.

"What does it look like?" she demanded, irritable because the slippery bat spleen she had been trying to fish out of the cauldron for the past several minutes simply kept sinking to the bottom despite her best efforts.

"Honestly? It looks like your hair has morphed into an abominably frazzled kneazle that decided to take up residence on your head."

She rolled her eyes theatrically for greater effect, " _ There's _ the Draco Malfoy I know and love. Thank goodness, I was beginning to worry."

"I know, it's hard when you've been separated from my good looks and charm for days at a time," he drawled, "but you can rest easy now, because here I am."

She giggled, despite herself.

Glancing around their living space, which was now in even further disarray than before, Draco frowned deeply, "When was the last time you left this room?"

Finally fishing out the elusive bat spleen, she deposited the unsavory organ into one of the many glass dishes surrounding her on the floor, and immediately used her ladle to sift around for other ingredients. Not even looking up at him, she answered, "For afternoon classes."

"What about dinner?"

She paused.  _ Did that happen already? _

Her silence told him everything he needed to know.

"We're getting you something to eat before the prefect meeting," he insisted solemnly.

"The prefect meeting!" she exclaimed. Between working on the experiments she was running and preparing her NEWT study guides, she had completely forgotten it.

"Yes," he confirmed. "It's in only an hour."

"Oh, but… my potion…"

"...Is already starting to turn blue, look," he pointed out, "which means you've already extracted everything from it that you're going to."

Draco helped her dismantle her temporary lab and pack up her materials. Afterward, he took her hand and led her down to the kitchens for a quick bite before the two of them hiked it all the way back up six flights of stairs for the meeting.

Unfortunately, the meeting was, in Hermione's opinion, a complete waste of everyone's time. They mostly discussed the upcoming Spring Fling, and everything that entailed. Draco, who sat beside her as they had come to do in this setting, looked bored the entire time. All the same, she wondered what was on his mind.

Truly, if she had to attend yet another school dance this year, she would prefer to go with him above anyone, or not at all.

Glancing sidelong at her husband, she wondered how he would feel about going public. It went against everything they had agreed in their marriage contract, it was true - but then, she supposed there was very little about that contract that was concrete whatsoever...

_ Put it out of your mind _ , she chided herself, suspecting she already knew his answer.

.

.

_ The forest was bathed in moonlight where it sluiced through the trees above, vaulting long tendrils of paleness onto the ground below. Hermione's footsteps were muted as she tread lightly along the grassy path. Despite that it was the forest at night and she was alone, she felt at ease, safe. _

_ She gazed up through a break in the canopy. The stars were laid out in their full splendor like worlds or ideas, uncountable as the trees in the wood surrounding her. _

_ When she looked back in front of her, she froze in place at the sight of the silvery creature in the distance. The unicorn was still as a statue, waiting for her to notice its presence. On the ground beneath its snow-white hooves was a mandala drawn in shining gold. _

_ "What do you want from me?" she asked it, unsure if she even wanted an answer. _

_ The unicorn made no indication she had spoken. It did not even move… _

She had been plagued with similar dreams for nearly the entire week. It was not that Hermione was nervous, per se, but there was a definite anxiousness that had settled onto her shoulders, and while it did not necessarily weigh her down, it certainly made its presence known in the back of her mind, always consistently there.

Crookshanks comforted her that morning, stretching from his position at the foot of her bed and sauntering up toward the crook of her elbow, pretending with all a cat's nonchalance that it had not been for any purpose other than to please himself.

Later, when Hermione made her way down to breakfast, there was still no sign of Noctua's return.

_ Surely they must have the letter by now… _

.

.

In their last Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the week, Hermione noticed Ron had left the seat beside him at the double-desk empty, and when she walked in, he looked up, turned red, then looked down at his shoes.

Feeling she had got pretty good at letting go of grudges lately, Hermione strode confidently to the seat next to him and plopped her bag into the chair. "Can I sit here?"

He looked relieved and nodded.

"I'm sorry about you and Daphne, you know," she told him honestly. "I liked the two of you together."

Ron swallowed heavily. "She was something else. They don't make them all like her. But… Hermione, I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said what I did. 'Spect I knew it wasn't true, even then."

Playfully, she nudged his shoulder, "Well, you're never going to win your witch back if you keep moping all the time, are you?"

A grin spread across Ron's freckled face, "You forgive me?"

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "As much as I ever will, Ronald. That temper of yours is legendary… but I suppose you just wouldn't be you without it."

.

.

On Sunday afternoon, Noctua returned to Hogwarts without any sort of response and Hermione's waning courage fell.

She was not herself all day, even after visiting Hagrid with Harry, Ginny, and Ron. On their way back up to the castle from the gamekeeper's hut, she experienced a minor panic attack. To their enquiring looks, she explained that she had been expecting a response from an alchemist that had never come.

"Do you want to take a walk around the lake?" Harry queried companionably as Ginny rubbed circles on Hermione's back.

She shook her head, "We don't have time for that, Harry. We have NEWTs coming up…"

"Those are  _ months _ away, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed.

"...and it's cold," she finished.

Mournfully, Harry then tried, "Do you want to go to the library and study for NEWTs?"

Hermione knew he was only suggesting it to make her feel better, but she nodded and the four of them actually went.

"Hermione," Ron sighed as she slid beautifully organized copies of her Herbology notes across the table, "what would we do without you?"

She honestly did not know, and it was this that made her feel more like herself than anything.

.

.

On Monday at breakfast, a second year brought Hermione a note from the headmistress, reminiscent of the many such summons Professor Dumbledore used to send Harry during the horcrux project of sixth year.

"What does it say?" Harry asked curiously.

Unfolding the parchment, Hermione's eyes scanned the short letter and explained, "Professor McGonagall has requested I show up for an appointment in her office after classes today."

"Does it say anything else?" Ron probed through his mouthful of scrambled eggs.

She shook her head.

"Maybe the meeting is less for you and more for Professor McGonagall's clarification," Luna remarked serenely.

Not for the first time, Hermione felt uncomfortable around Luna. It was like the Gryffindor had a preternatural sense of what was occurring around her. For whatever reason, Luna had not brought up the rendezvous she and Hermione had in discovering Rowena's study - and Hermione found she was grateful for it, as the entire experience felt highly private.

"Yeah, maybe," Ginny answered Luna, waving the comment away. Turning to Hermione, she solicited, "You'll have to let us know how it goes."

"Your Slytherin is showing, Ginny," she remarked in reply. "Don't worry - no secrets, I got it."

.

.

"Don't think I didn't notice the sneaky maneuvering you just pulled in order to get yourself paired to me," Hermione told Draco coyly as Professor Sprout assigned them a starshrub to prune.

"Why, Miss Granger, I would never," he insisted with a mock-gasp.

"Ever the Slytherin," she chuckled. Glancing around, she asked, "Where's Theo?"

Draco shrugged, "Not sure, I haven't seen much of him lately."

She bit her lip, but let it go.

Once the class was safely occupied with other things, he pulled a letter identical to the one she had received at breakfast from the pocket of his robes. "I assume you got one of these from McGonagall, as well?"

"I did." She was unsure if she was surprised or not that Draco had also been given an appointment with their headmistress.

"Wonder what she wants."

Hermione wondered, too.

After lunch was a double-block of Ancient Runes, followed by the meeting with Professor McGonagall. Curiosity made it difficult to pay attention to Professor Babbling's lecture.

Finally, after class, Hermione met Draco's eye and the two of them began the trek down toward the second floor, where the headmistress's office could be accessed by a corridor heavily lined with suits of armor. Enormous shields and crossed swords hung up high on the stone walls, blanketing the hall with an atmosphere of austerity.

Glancing sidelong at her companion, Hermione smiled reassuringly at Draco; he responded by maneuvering her to one of the few blank expanses of wall, and kissing her deeply. Sighing contentedly into his mouth, she melted into him, yanking his Ravenclaw tie toward her to try bringing him even closer. He did not need any further encouragement. Placing both of his forearms against the wall on either sides of her head, he caged her in and gave her exactly the sort of snogging she had been craving. She wrapped her arms around his neck, relishing the feel of him surrounding her, the taste of him, his scent, his…

"Let her go! Leave her alone!"

They separated quickly and Hermione attempted to control her escalated breathing. A small girl with blonde pigtails - probably a second year if she were to guess - was racing toward them down the hallway with her wand out. Despite the excess baby fat that still rounded out her face, she was wearing a scowl that could have curdled milk and looked determined to hex someone.

"Hi," Hermione said awkwardly, aware that her cheeks must be flushed, "what's your name?"

The girl stopped in her tracks a few steps from them, wand still out. Her eyes narrowed as she looked swiftly from Hermione to Draco, then back again, "He… he wasn't… hurting you?"

Heat rushed to her face as Hermione glanced at Draco. He was looking at the small girl with recognition and possibly shame. She wondered what that was about. "No, of course not."

"Oh." The girl lowered her wand. "I thought…"

"What's your name?" Hermione repeated the question.

"I'm Lottie Gary." Then, matter-of-factly, she stated, " _ You're _ Hermione Granger."

"Well… yes, I am."

The girl turned her eyes to Draco now, again narrowing them, "And  _ you're _ Draco Malfoy."

He shifted uncomfortably, "I am."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Lottie shifted into a confrontational stance and demanded, "I don't suppose you remember me?"

"I do," he contradicted, "and for what it's worth, I'm really sorry."

Hermione's brain began buzzing unpleasantly. "What exactly is going on here?"

Looking offended, Lottie explained, "He tortured me last year."

"If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else," Draco said quickly. "It could have been someone with stronger convictions, who might have made a more forceful  _ Crucio _ . Would you have preferred that?" **

The girl drew herself up haughtily, "I'm a Gryffindor. The strength of evil spellwork doesn't concern me so much as the intentions of the person on the other end of the wand."

_ Woah _ , Hermione thought at the girl's proclamation. She was indeed wearing a red-and-gold uniform tie. Before things could escalate, she put in, "Draco is a good person, Lottie. I'm so sorry you were tortured, and I'm doubly sorry that he had to be the one to do it."

Lottie's eyes narrowed.

"You should understand, too,” Hermione hurriedly added, “that everyone was forced to do things during the war that they weren't proud of.”

"Not you," the girl said swiftly. "You're a hero. Heroes don't do things like that."

"That isn't true at all," Hermione insisted, shaking her head. "I did lots of things I wasn't proud of."

With a sarcastic look, Lottie queried, "Like kissing  _ him _ ?"

"I don't regret that at all," she contradicted. Then, she thoughtfully added, "Though it  _ is _ meant to be a secret, so…"

"Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why is it a secret? If you're not ashamed of him?"

_ The girl is too discerning for her own good _ , Hermione reflected. She glanced to Draco for back-up.

Catching her glance, he responded for her, "Because Granger has a reputation to uphold, and I would only be tarnish on it."

His words hit her like a sledgehammer being swung into her gut.  _ Is that what he really thinks of himself? Would he be so transparent around a second year if he didn't? _

"How…  _ logical _ ," the tiny girl sneered, glancing at the two of them with their blue-and-bronze ties. Without another word, she turned on her heel and began to march away.

"Lottie… wait!" Hermione called after her.

But the girl broke into a run and was gone.

Hermione whirled around on Draco, "Is it true?"

"That I tortured her?" he wondered glumly. "Unfortunately, yes, it's true. The Carrows had us all take turns on first years during their regime last year. It was particularly bad for her - they kept me at it for nearly a quarter of an hour. She had to be revived by Pomfrey afterwards. It was not one of my finer moments, and I assure you, I have plenty of shit memories to choose from."

"Not that," she hissed, but softened, "Although I'm sorry - I meant, was it true that you think you would only be tarnish on my reputation?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her, " _ Isn't _ it true?"

"I…" she gaped, "of course not, Draco… I…"

"You don't have to pretend around me, you know."

That effectively shut her mouth. Feeling forlorn and oddly adrift, she only said, "I love you."

"As I love you," he answered, taking her hand, "but it's for the best that we keep what we have quiet for now."

Glancing after the place where Lottie disappeared, Hermione snorted indelicately, "I don't know how long it will be a secret, now that she knows. She could tell the whole school in a day!"

"Would anyone believe her, do you think?" Hermione had not considered that. Draco went on, "After all, you are supposedly meant to be dating Theo currently, I believe?"

"Oh," she reddened again. "You heard about that?"

"Greengrass and I had a good chuckle over it," he explained with a wave of his hand.

"I miss her."

"Sentimental as that is, Hermione, I believe we are now late for an appointment with our esteemed headmistress," he teased, a smirk coloring the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps we can be maudlin with our feelings later?"

"I suppose so..."

They trudged the rest of the way down the hall in silence, coming to a stop before the large griffin that functioned as guardian.

"We're here to see the headmistress," Hermione told the bronze statue. "We have an appointment."

This seemed to be good enough in lieu of a password, because the griffin began to slowly rotate, a spiraling staircase opening in its wake as it rose like a corkscrew, upward. Though they had been there before, directly after their initial mandala incident, Draco still eyed the staircase dubiously.

"Ahh, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, please come in," McGonagall welcomed. With a glance at the clock, the stern woman observed, "You are late."

"We got a bit side-tracked, professor," Hermione apologized. "It won't happen again."

"This will only take a moment of your time, I hope." McGonagall reached across her desk to hold up a carefully folded parchment. "I received a letter yesterday - by way of your owl, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco's eyebrows raised.

"I don't suppose either of you would care to explain why two alchemists - all the way from India - have decided to contact me for permission to set up a Floo conference with the two of you? Indeed, they hardly seemed to need my approval, as they have already gained permission from the Department of International Travel to speak to the both of you at length - in  _ my _ office, of all places - for this coming Thursday morning?"

Hermione's heart leapt into her mouth. "I… they already…  _ wow _ ."

"We have been in contact with these particular alchemists, professor," Draco explained level-headedly. "But the truth is, we were expecting a letter in response, not an entire conference."

Surveying the two of them from over the top of her spectacles, McGonagall pressed, "Do you believe them to have some information that may secure your unbinding?"

"Possibly," Hermione answered, composing herself. "We would at least like to hear them out."

"We had hoped to do so privately, however," Draco added.

"I am not concerned with privacy, Mr. Malfoy, so much as I am concerned that the two of you will have to be excused from class. The time slot these women have decided upon falls directly in the middle of Arithmancy."

"Oh. Right."

"As such," the professor continued, "I was under the impression you had decided to divorce in order to facilitate your unbinding?"

"We had, professor," Draco answered. Hermione, who had opened her mouth to answer, shut it again. "Given the circumstances, we would like to see if there was a way to speed things along."

"I see." The Headmistress continued to survey them and Hermione got the distinct impression she was being x-rayed. "Well, you have my permission to use my office on Thursday morning, in any event. I will also inform Professor Vector that the two of you are to be excused. Due to the nature of international Floo travel and the type of permit these alchemists procured, they will be unable to be fully in the room…"

"What do you mean?" Hermione questioned.

"Just their heads in the fire," Draco explained quietly.

"Quite so, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall nodded. "Regardless, would the two of you care for a chaperone to be present?"

"No," they answered in unison, a little too quickly.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, "I see. Well, in that case, you may report here at quarter of eleven on Thursday morning."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to both I_was_BOTWP and MammaWeasley27, who helped me push through my writer's block, and then beta'd this chapter for me.
> 
> There was a * in this chapter, which referenced a lecture from Chapter 39, should you wish to revisit. There was also a ** which referenced an incident in Chapter 25, again for your referencing pleasure.
> 
> Lastly, I really mean it when I say I appreciate everyone who took the time to remind me how much they love this story, whether it be in a comment or on Facebook, thank you. It's frankly amazing to me still, all the love you've left. Gratitude x98734523496682.889.


	60. Rasayan Shastra

**** Like a ticking bomb, Hermione's brain began the countdown to Thursday morning from the moment she and Draco left the headmistress's office. She wondered if perhaps he were also preoccupied similarly, as their Monday patrols were weirdly silent, akin to some of the ones they had shared at the beginning of the year. Recognizing the importance of internal reflection, Hermione opted to leave him be.

But despite Draco's reassurances that he would always think highly of her, she noticed a definite change in him over the next few days…

During their free block on Tuesday afternoon, they retired to their suite to review their notes, mutually agreeing that it would be in their best interest if they were able to recall as much of the particulars of their research as possible, for when Thursday came around. She read her notes aloud to him as he sat beside her, gently playing with a few flyaway curls - but when she tried to kiss him afterward, he allowed their lips to touch only for a moment before pulling away and offering no explanation.

On Wednesday, during their double-block of Potions, his shoulder brushed hers near the storage cabinets. She could feel the familiar, reassuring aura of him, and instinctively leaned into him despite the relatively public area. He refrained from throwing her a trademark smirk, merely inclining his head before retreating back to his workstation.

During this time, not a whisper could be detected of their secret relationship, though Hermione did notice Lottie trailing her twice. They never spoke. She wondered at the girl's silence.

In the wee hours before sunrise on Thursday, Hermione finally gave up on attempting to sleep and opted to retreat to the married suite instead so she could continue reviewing her notes and theories. Apparently, Draco had also been plagued with the inability to find rest that night, because Hermione found him already inside. He was casually sprawled across their couch - now the only place to sit, as even the floor was covered in alchemy experiments - and wearing his reading glasses as he pored over Ravenclaw's original alchemy journal.

She found him so thoroughly sexy like that, so she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hoping to initiate something. It would have been a welcome distraction in light of everything, but more than that, she had been craving their intimacy all week…

Instead of leaning backward into her embrace, he merely acknowledged, "Hermione," and turned back to his reading.

It was as if she had been friend-zoned.

.

.

It felt odd, on Thursday morning, to be heading to the headmistress's office instead of Arithmancy. Hermione had hoped she and Draco could have walked to their meeting together, as her nerves felt as if they had all been stretched taut… but he was nowhere to be seen, so she was forced to head there alone.

He was waiting for her at the griffin statue that would admit them upward, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. Hermione could not recall ever seeing him fidget before.

"Shall we?" she queried.

Despite the icy politeness he had treated her with over the past few days, he was clearly sympathetic to her obvious agitation now. After a moment's hesitation, he slipped his hand into hers. She could have cried with relief at the contact.

Puffing out a breath and choking back a reproach at his distance, she repeated, "Ready?"

"Just a moment longer," he requested, taking her other hand as well, and clasping both of hers in his.

_ No more secrets. No more hiding. _ She had agreed to be open with him. It was the only reason she quietly asked, "Have you been upset with me?"

Turning her hands over and rubbing his thumbs over her palms, he considered, "Not…  _ at _ you. Not really. The situation, more than anything… yes."

"I know this isn't ideal," she assured him, trying to keep her head. She felt like a starving person being given a bowl of rice and asked to eat it slowly; she wanted so much from him, and all at once. But touching his hands would have to suffice. "We're just listening today."

"Hermione," he said frankly, giving her a look. His thumbs stopped massaging her palms, "If these alchemists have a way out for us that involves sex, do you really think you're going to be satisfied by  _ just listening _ to them?"

He was right. It was not the first time the thought had occurred to her, either - truly, she had been so preoccupied for the last few days, she had thought of little else besides this conference. That meant she had plenty of time to decide what she would want to do.

If the Upadhyaya sisters were able to give them clear reassurances that harnessing the kundalini sexual energy in an alchemical setting would unbind them… well…

Hermione chanced a look up at his eyes. They were chips of sun-beaten seaglass that had perhaps once been a pale blue, sparkling in the mid-morning sun that streamed through the tall castle windows. But beneath them, he carried proof that he had not been sleeping well for some time. The thought furrowed her brow.

More to the point, she could see in those gray-blue orbs that he knew what she was thinking: she  _ would _ want to harness the kundalini, if it were a viable option. As for his reaction to this knowledge… he had reconstructed his mask, which was firmly back in place. Impassive, eternal. It was heartbreaking to see it on his face when they were alone; she had grown accustomed to his simply being himself around her.

She dropped her hands away and he let them fall. There was no need for her to answer him.

"Let's go," he suggested, and she did not argue.

Despite that they had arrived at McGonagall's office a quarter of an hour before the appointed time, Priya's and Indira's heads were both waiting for them in the fireplace, making small talk with the headmistress.

At her students' entrance, the professor excused herself and rose to leave. "I have some business to conduct with Madam Hooch for a half-hour or so. I shall give you until noon."

When the stern witch left, the portraits hanging on the circular walls began gossiping amongst themselves in whispers. Irritated at having such an audience, Hermione swept the area by wandpoint and cast an over-powerful, " _ Muffliato _ ," leading many of the portraits to protest. Not wanting to listen to their squawking, she was forced to add on a silencing spell. The former heads of Hogwarts were then reduced to glaring at the intruders.

Trying to ignore them, Hermione turned to focus on the faces of the women from thousands of miles away, with whom she had been corresponding. Dubiously, she began, "Er, hello. I'm Hermione Granger and this is Draco Malfoy… thank you so much for arranging to speak with us."

Of the two, Indira was clearly the beauty. From the moment the woman introduced herself, Hermione's gaze could not help but be drawn to her. She had long, thick hair, dark and straight as a pin. High cheekbones and eyes that were somewhere between blue and green added a striking element to her features. Meanwhile, Priya had an otherworldly look, like a wildling: her ocher eyes seemed as if they might once have beheld the heart of mother earth, herself. She appeared wise, somewhat lined in the face, especially about her mouth, and seemed to be content to let her sister shine in the spotlight.

Before introductions were even concluded and Indira launched into a summary of kundalini magic, Priya fixed her eyes on Draco and would not look away. At first, he attempted to hold her gaze, appearing defiant. Soon however, he was forced to turn away from the persistence of her scrutiny.

"Kundalini energy involves itself in one of the rarer branches of alchemy," Indira was explaining. Hermione was jotting down notes as fast as she could write. "It is earthly nature and human conformation manipulated by the most primal of magics. Ancient energies - the kundalini energy itself, which is one of the most essential parts of  _ prana _ \- are intertwined with sexual energies. Priya and I have studied these for nearly all our lives.

"What you call alchemy," the witch continued, "is called  _ rasayan shastra _ in India. It is no mistake that this is also the meaning of your term 'chemistry', as in ancient India, our ideas of chemistry and alchemy were the same.

"When the kundalini is awakened, you will have what you call an out-of-body experience. It may feel like an invisible helium balloon is attached to your back, and you are bobbing and weaving at its whim, almost separate from gravity…"

Hermione frowned and tentatively interrupted, "That doesn't sound particularly pleasant."

"It sometimes isn't."

"Oh." She did not dare glance in Draco's direction.

"But long-term effects of such an awakening are worth some initial discomfort," Indira assured her. It was curious how her hair seemed to have a natural bounce to it, even from its place sitting in McGonagall's fireplace grate, several countries away from the woman's body. Hermione could never hope to get her own hair to behave in such a way. "Within your grasp, you hold the keys to enlightening your higher self, connecting your body to your true self, that is."

Speaking for the first time since her sister had introduced her, Priya's gaze shifted to Hermione and she now began inspecting her instead, "Your biggest inhibitor is your ego. It is what gets in the way of your experiencing life in tune with your consciousness…"

"...It's true, there can be spiritual side effects that will affect your everyday life from the moment you harness it," Indira continued.

Priya asked them to recount their tale from beginning to end. Hermione acquiesced, including as much detail as she could think to. Draco said not a word during the entire retelling, but merely shifted so that he was leaning against the headmistress's desk in affected nonchalance.

When she had done, the sisters shared a look before Indira nodded and indicated, "It is as we supposed."

"What's that?" he drawled, finally breaking his silence.

"We have devised a course of action for the two of you to unbind yourselves using sexual energies," Priya informed them.

"Yes," the other witch agreed, "and given that your original letter to us included so many pertinent details, we are confident it will work."

"Forgive me," Draco pronounced slowly, sounding not at all like he was actually asking forgiveness, "but we know next to nothing about your qualifications. How do we know that your assurances are genuine?"

"Draco," Hermione hissed. Merlin, he was embarrassing sometimes! Calling into question the legitimacy of two famous alchemists' work...  _ to their faces _ ? That, coupled with his haughty demeanor and cavalier treatment of the entire situation, caused her cheeks to heat with mortification.

He refused to be swayed, "My accomplice and I have been through one too many alchemy experiments gone awry as it is. I require more than the word of two heads sitting in a fireplace."

_ Accomplices _ . It had seemed forever ago that they had agreed to be accomplices… so much had occurred since that day on prefect patrols. She looked down at her left hand, staring at the empty space on her ring finger. Draco had placed a ring on her hand the day they had married, but neither of them wore their rings, per their agreement to keep their arrangement a secret…

"Our mutual qualifications would never be questioned in India," Indira insisted. "Priya Didi is not merely my sister, she is also a famous alchemist in her own right. It is not necessary for us to prove ourselves."

"I  _ did _ research all the alchemists I sent letters to, Draco," Hermione added quietly. It had only taken her a few seconds following her initial embarrassment, to become offended that he thought she might not have done adequate investigation into the sisters' intellectual legacy.

He looked away, clenching his jaw, but effused no other outburst.

Thankfully, Indira continued the conversation as if he had not insulted them, "You will need to construct a second mandala using your original design and measurements."

Hermione nodded, grateful that the sisters had not simply opted to withdraw due to Draco's insolence. Studiously jotting down Indira's comments, she was not concerned about reenacting their initial mandala, as they had both calculated those numbers so many times, she knew for sure they were amongst the copious notes stored in their suite.

"You should procure the Three Essentials in their same forms as in your original design, as well," Indira continued. "You say you brewed your own batch of essence of Salt?"

"Draco did it, yes."

Indira turned to him, "You must do so a second time."

He grunted.

"You must procure the Mercury and Sulfur from the same chemist, and be sure they are constructed by the same methods if they are not pure elements. You must even be sure the paintbrush you use for the mandala contains the same fibers as the original."

Hermione paused at this, glancing up in awe. She then glanced nervously to Draco. They had not saved the ruined paintbrush they had used for the last mandala, but he did not look particularly concerned.

"Unnatural materials will also be rejected by the mandala, including non-fiber clothing, jewelry, or perfumes," Indira went on.

"We find it best to be nude when dealing with kundalini energy, anyway," Priya informed them, her eyes looking at Hermione, unblinking.

She colored again, still refusing to meet Draco's eyes. For whatever reason - and she was not exactly clear on this part - he was not keen on taking their relationship to that level. It was a true conundrum, because barely a week ago, she was sure he was ready to make a true wife of her. It almost seemed as if he had recanted. Perhaps he was rethinking their entire relationship?

She shook those thoughts from her head, and enquired, "I believe you initially wrote that the ideal time to perform this mandala would be on the vernal equinox?"

"You are correct. It is a time for rebirth. In India, we have different views about this, but as Scotland's native peoples believed it, it would be what this land would accept. That is old, earth magic at work… it will do its part."

Hermione was suddenly struck with the weight of how much magic she had not given much of a thought to… that the earth had a natural magic, among other things. Suddenly, learning how to cast a Tickling Charm seemed like a waste of her education.

"How exactly does this…  _ kundalini _ work?" Draco asked. He was still leaning casually against the side of the desk.

"The kundalini and the alchemy of the body are intertwined. There is a powerful energy waiting within, dormant until called up. It can only be awakened through its ascent through the spinal canal. Anyone can do it if they prepare for it – non-magic folk have a much harder time of it, but they can… though they don't understand it as fully, as is natural without magic," Indira explained.

Priya added, almost as a continuation of her sister's train of thought, from one head directly to the other, "Think of it like a raw egg sitting at the base of your spine. Bringing about a kundalini awakening without magic is most often like a small crack in that eggshell: its contents will spill out over time, but slowly…"

"Eventually, it will have travelled up, vertebra by vertebra, until the awakening is complete..."

"However, magical folk have a different way of awakening it using  _ rasayan shastra _ . In this way, that eggshell will suddenly be very broken and its contents will spill out suddenly, very quickly reaching an awakening…"

"When done with an aim in mind, the Three Essentials will guide the intended aim. By using the three as you have done before – fusing the power of the two lesser, focused with the binding power of essence of Salt, the Body of alchemy – you will channel the same reaction."

A hint of annoyance could be detected in Draco's voice as he protested, "But we don't want the  _ same _ reaction, we want the opposite."

"Which is why you will bind with  _ aag _ and  _ dharti _ instead of  _ vaayu _ and  _ jal _ ," Priya replied without missing a beat. Her eyes were fixed back on him in that intrusive way she had done before.

"Fire and earth instead of air and water," Indira quickly translated, noting Hermione's confused expression. Grinning, she added with a sly smile, "They have the added benefit of being the two sexier of the four elements."

Frowning, Hermione opened her mouth to protest the harnessing of such volatile archetypes, when Draco interjected, "Fire and air are outwardly reaching, while water and earth turn inward and downward."

She looked at him and their eyes met for the first time since the conference had begun.  _ He looks exhausted. He's not been sleeping… _

"Remember the beginning of the year," he went on, looking only at her now, "second class, McGonagall went over Empedocles with us. Because of the nature of inward-reaching versus outward-reaching elements, many with magical blood find the elemental archetypes of earth and water easier to bend to their will, as humans tend to naturally go inward rather than outward, themselves."

She did remember. It also did something to her whenever Draco spoke intelligently about something.

"But there may be some long-term reactions," Indira warned. "You may become hypersensitive to nature energy: the four elemental archetypes in particular."

Hermione glanced at Draco and plainly could read the question in his eyes. She asked it for him, "What if we go through all this preparation but achieve nothing? Is that a possibility?"

"Theoretically, yes…" Indira faltered.

"But you're both virgins," Priya protested. She looked at them frankly, "Unless that is no longer true?"

"It's true," Hermione assured the witch quickly.

Looking satisfied, the alchemist portended, "Then, neither of you have any pre-existing sexual ego to contend with. The fact that you've never done this before is its own kind of awakening... so the chances of failure are slim enough."

A familiar sense of burning shame lilted gently through Hermione's core and pistoned to her nerves. She had not felt it in some time - shame at contemplating giving up her virginity for such a reason. For a short while in the near past, she had overcome it because she and Draco were in love. They were going to try to make things work.

Now, though? It was as if they had taken two steps forward together, only for them to take three steps backward, separately.

But that was a thought for another time. For right now, she needed to focus on this interview…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually sparked an entire other fanfiction I've been working on called: This, Too, Is Sacred. For the moment, it is a WIP - I should begin posting it here on AO3 next year.
> 
> A few thank you's: firstly, to both Ishita and Gunjan from the Dramione FanFiction Forum (18+) Facebook group, for helping me out with the Hindi in this chapter. Another thank you to I_was_BOTWP and MommaWeasley27 for beta'ing this chapter (it definitely needed it). Alpha cred for this chapter spills over from a previous one (thank you MotherofBulls)...
> 
> Lastly, please accept massive chunks of love for those who commented and kudo'd. I appreciate everyone so much.


	61. Inverted Mirrors

**** "You want to do it, don't you?"

It was a simple question, but there was a veritable web of implication behind it.

Hermione worried her bottom lip with her teeth and her eyes flickered up to Draco's face. He was scrutinizing her as they stood in the hallway outside the entrance to McGonagall's office. The headmistress had returned to find all her portraits had been silenced and quickly set things to rights, prompting Hermione and Draco to quickly conclude their conference with the sisters.

She requested, "Can we talk in our suite?"

Gesturing with his hand for her to lead the way, he gave his assent. They did not speak as they made their way there. As morning classes were still in session for another quarter of an hour, they also did not meet anyone on their way.

As they went, Hermione thought about the second half of her talk with the sisters. In particular, there was something which Priya had mentioned in passing that was of the utmost interest to her:  _ The kundalini will seek to meld you back together again, given your accurate observation that you are mirrored instead of halved. _

This was transmutation - something McGonagall had mentioned in their very first Alchemy class. Hermione thought back to the first response she had received from the Chinese alchemist that entreated her to return to basic knowledge, and had to begrudgingly acknowledge that he had been correct after all.

Brooding separately, they reached their suite. Not in the mood to quip with the gargoyle, Draco merely gave the password and entered with Hermione close behind.

Her eyes followed him as he picked a path through her potions experiments and made himself comfortable in their couch. A fire sprang to life in the grate. He told her frankly, "I don't like it."

She wanted to spit out at him,  _ And I did not care for your disdain toward the Upadhyaya sisters, but here we are. _

But she knew that would only spark an argument. Instead, she politely queried, "What don't you like?"

He shot her a look as if she were feigning stupidity just to annoy him. "That plan of theirs. I know you want to try it - I could see it in your eyes that you want to."

"I do want to try it," she agreed.

He sucked in a breath, holding her gaze. She knew him well enough by now to be able to see though the barely visible cracks in his mask… and right now, Draco Malfoy was upset with his wife.

She reasoned, "Draco, you heard them. They agreed: mirrored, not halved. The same reason the Adder's Fork wasn't going to work to split us. But what happens when you invert a mirror? Everything disappears!"

Still merely looking at her, he seemed totally nonplussed by what had given Hermione thrills of excitement.

Undaunted, she went on, "If we pursue this plan and it works, it could clear us of all our scars - our marks -  _ collectively _ . No other plan offers us that."

Though he seemed to be attempting to remain impassive, Hermione saw Draco glance down at his forearm, where the Dark Mark had been branded into his skin at the age of sixteen. She knew how he abhorred it, regretted it. Her own forearm itched merely thinking about it.

"You could be rid of it, Draco… that mark. Voldemort doesn't own you - and now, here is an opportunity to erase the last bit of him from your body. From mine. Don't you want that?"

He buried his face in his hands for a moment before sliding his hand upward, smoothing out his hair. Hermione thought he looked drawn, and not at all like he wanted to be having this conversation.

Sensing his argument weakening, she prodded, "I don't really fancy having this awful slur carved into my arm forever either. If given the opportunity… I would erase it, if I could."

Though he huffed out a laugh, he did not sound amused in the slightest. "Whatever happened to being able to forgive, but never forget?"

A shiver trailed over her skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. "I don't think I could ever forget that night, regardless of what may happen to me in this life."

His mouth had curled into a grimace, but she was unsure if it were at her words, at the memory, or at the situation. Possibly it was all three. "Because I know you were taking to Greengrass about it, I assume you know about the… occurrences between Parkinson and myself, from the past?"

It seemed an abrupt change of topic, so Hermione was momentarily taken aback. Then, carefully, she answered, "She told me Pansy wasn’t faithful to you."

He closed his eyes. "It may be hard for you to hear, but that was one of the most difficult days of my life. Do you know why?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "It… well, it's not easy to accept that someone you… care about could do something like that to you…"

"It was not the act of sex that repulsed me."

Her eyebrows raised.

"No," he confirmed, seeing her incredulous expression, "it was how she treated the betrayal. It was as if it was unimportant to her. That was why it mattered."

"I don't really understand where you're going with this, Draco," she admitted honestly.

"She doesn't remember the night we brought her back to her commons, you know," he said quietly.

Suppressing a momentary spike of jealousy, she wondered how on earth a conversation about their unbinding had sparked a discussion about Pansy Parkinson. Remaining silent, she suspected it would all make sense in due time.

"She's a loyal person, Parkinson," he reflected. "I suspect that's why she was put in Hufflepuff when we were all re-sorted. It's also what brought her to drinking. She's very loyal to family, but friends? Romantic partners? No. Don't you see? I was not even worthy of the loyalty of a slag like Parkinson."

" _ She _ doesn't deserve  _ you _ !" Hermione hissed, suddenly furious at the witch.

"I don't care about her," he protested, his voice a deadly calm. "What I want  _ you _ to know, in no uncertain terms, is that I  _ hate _ the idea of why you want to consummate our marriage."

Coloring, she swiftly countered, "I hate it, too. But don't you want to be free of your mark? Your scars? Your arthritis? I'm not interested in doing this for selfish reasons, Draco - I want to do this for you, too."

For a long moment, he only looked at her. "I can see in your eyes that you aren't prepared to back down. Fine. If that's how it's going to be, I suppose I should accept my fate. After all, perhaps I am not entitled to a traditional wedding night. Perhaps, as it's my fault you got into this alchemical mess in the first place, this is only fitting."

"Draco, that's not…"

"I will begin making another batch of essence of Salt," he interrupted. "We can plan to execute this in Ravenclaw's bower, since it's supposed to appear if it is needed. If necessary, we can come here instead, as we can't do it out on the grounds. It will be Scotland in March - we'd freeze to death even with the aid of magic."

He stood and made his way toward the exit, pushing past her. Sadly, she observed, "You're angry with me."

"Not at you." Glancing backward, he paused a moment, then amended, "not  _ entirely _ at you."

Then he was gone.

.

.

There was a feeling Hermione sometimes got before a panic attack took her. It was like missing a step on the staircase, and her stomach would lurch… only there was no settling when her foot made contact with the next stair, because there was no staircase to begin with. She would go on, experiencing a constant, stomach-lurching sense of purgatory until it backed up like a clogged drain.

Then it was drowning; not slipping-into-a-choppy-ocean kind of drowning, but like she was lying face-down in a puddle with barely an inch of water, but with no way to move her neck to the side. She should be able to conquer this - it was only a puddle, after all. Would a mere puddle defeat her?

But then… she  _ was _ the puddle… flattening, oozing, stagnant… she was irrational, inconsolable. How was one to condole with a puddle, even a puddle of human? She was drowning - in herself - and no one could even see the struggle until she was in a heap on the floor.

The thing was, by now Hermione could almost predict when they were going to occur. Following the conversation with the alchemists, and then her heated discussion with Draco, Hermione knew a panic attack was imminent… so she sat on the floor of the married suite, back against the wall, and waited.

Over a hundred small, glass dishes containing ingredients from the truth serum and powder she had rendered down littered the floor, as each experiment had yielded over fifty components. The small side table was covered in notes, and there were stacks of books in much of the available space of the living room. Their coffee table was covered in a cauldron, plus more notes, and samples in vials of veritaserum and the truth powder from Rowena's study. Alchemy journals and library books also claimed residence there.

All in all, the place did not look like a dwelling… and it certainly in no way resembled the private suite of two young newlyweds.

Despite that she could feel the beginnings of her panic attack burgeoning, Hermione slid back up the wall and steadied herself to make her way toward the bedroom. She could not be in this place… not when every surface was covered in proof of why her marriage to Draco was still a formality, despite whatever they might have agreed on in the heat of the moment.

Two long candlesticks flamed to life the moment she stumbled into the dark bedroom, and she sank to the floor there. It was cold inside, virtually untouched.

Her shaking hand reached out to touch the bedspread. It was still folded neatly, the way it had been when McGonagall had given them the place. She climbed into the bed and smoothed her fingers across the quilt. If they were any other married couple, they would have had sex in that bed… so many times. She might have lost her virginity to him in that bed, and would have taken his. Would it have been passionate, frenzied, like so many of their snogging sessions tended to be? Or would he have taken her slowly, pushing inside her body for the first time with restraint for her comfort? Hermione knew that sometimes the first time could be somewhat painful, but she suspected that with Draco as her first, that would be alright.

Instead, their first time together would take place in a mandala. It would still be special, she was sure… but there would be another purpose to it beyond consummating their marriage. In fact, making love would be on the back burner.

She began to feel herself dissolving...

_ Draco is right, _ she decided,  _ it isn't how either of us ought to be taking one another's virginity. _

Of course he was right...

.

.

That evening, Hermione marched down to the Slytherin common room to seek out Ginny. Her friend had been working on some homework in the common area with some other seventh years all preparing to take their NEWTs, but upon seeing Hermione's face, Ginny closed her textbook and dragged her into her dormitory. The room was mercifully empty.

Ginny cast a  _ Muffliato _ on the door, explaining, "Slytherins."

Hermione only nodded.

"Tell me about it," she soothed, taking her hand.

She told her everything that had occurred in McGonagall's study, and afterward with Draco, including what they had agreed to do. An excellent audience, Ginny waited for Hermione to finish before speaking.

"I don't know what to do," Hermione groaned.

"Yes, you do."

She looked up, questioning.

Ginny clarified, "You  _ know _ what you have to do. You can't go around forever with that… thing… on your arm."

Both girls' eyes were drawn to the place on Hermione's left forearm where Draco's Dark Mark was burned into her skin, a carbon copy of his.

"I know I can't," she agreed.

"What you don't know, is how to cope."

"Come again?"

Leaping off the bed, Ginny began to rummage through her trunk at the foot. It was not long before her red hair surfaced again like a sunrise, only this time, she was clutching two magazines in her hands. She bounded back into bed, but this time snuggled up against her friend and handed her one of the magazines. The front featured a busty, blonde witch wearing mere scraps of clothing.

To gloomy to be taken aback, Hermione deadpanned, "Is this porn, Ginny?"

"Of course not, it's a catalogue."

She looked back down at what was in her hands. The catalogue seemed generic enough, but there were several headlines on the front cover that screamed things like 'Your Figure Defined By Fashion' or 'Our Prettiest Collection of Lingerie Looks' or 'The Bride's Guide', among others. Hermione glanced back at Ginny, but the girl already had her own catalogue open and was flipping through it.

"Look at this one," she said, thrusting a page under Hermione's nose and pointing to a picture of a brunette modelling a silken piece of nightwear with a neckline that went down to her navel. Hermione suspected the model was holding it in place using sticking charms.

She sighed, "I can't do this, Ginny. This isn't going to help."

"It will," the other girl insisted, taking her catalogue back and rifling through a few pages. "Here, look at this one. When you wear it, everywhere he touches will become invisible…"

Hermione speared her with a look.

Oblivious, she plugged along, flipping pages and exclaiming, "Or this one! Wait, no… not that one. That one zaps you in the nethers whenever he touches you. I think that's for people who are into kink…"

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, Ginny, I really do… but we can't take anything that isn't made of natural fibers into the mandala anyway. In fact, the sisters suggest not wearing anything at all."

"Oh, Hermione, you sweet, innocent thing, you," the other girl sighed, throwing the catalogue aside. "Harry and I only had an alright first time, but you are going to benefit from my newfound knowledge. You will look pretty - not just for him, but for yourself. We will find something compatible…"

"But…"

"I wasn't done. There will also be foreplay, and lots of it - or you are going to be too nervous to enjoy it…"

"But, Ginny…"

She picked up the catalogue again and brandished it at her, "You want this to be special, don't you?"

"I… do, yes…"

"Well then," she retorted, licking her finger to flip to the next page of the catalogue, "this is one way you do it."

In the end, Ginny decided Hermione should order a silvery negligee. ("A nod to his former-Slytherin-y self, Hermione," Ginny had grinned, "and it's silk. That's natural, right?"). Nonplussed, Hermione had agreed, in large part just to keep Ginny quiet and so they could stop rifling through the catalogues. She'd had quite enough.

"I'll just tack it on to my order," Ginny offered. "I was planning to order something special for Harry anyway."

Hermione groaned, " _ Harry _ ! How am I going to explain to him and Ron about this?"

"The boys do  _ not _ need to know the particulars of this one," Ginny growled, "it's none of their business."

"But I promised not to keep secrets…"

"I will tell Harry just enough to make him not ask questions."

"Oh, but…"

"Consider their past with Malfoy, Hermione," she entreated. "I don't have that, really - despite that if it weren't for Lucius Malfoy, I would never have had to go through everything I did in first year with Riddle's diary. But that wasn't  _ Draco's _ fault."

Frowning deeply, Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it again.

"You just leave it to me. I will make those boys understand. This is highly personal - and I am so glad you shared with me."

"Yes, well, I learned my lesson the hard way."

Smiling sympathetically, Ginny clearly appreciated the sentiment, though she did not say so. "Well, regardless of the reason you've decided to finally shag Malfoy, you're going to need a few things. I am going to snag some five-hour contraceptive potion from Madam Pomfrey. We don't need you getting impregnated with little ferret babies."

Hermione had not thought of that. Suddenly, she was glad she had gone to Ginny.

"You know, I feel like I missed an opportunity with Harry," the witch mused contemplatively. "I mean, he's a great wizard - imagine what sorts of powers we could have harnessed with this kundalini thing?"

"That's… just…" Hermione sighed. "Why do you say things like that? You know they fluster me."

"That's why I say them."

She rubbed her forearm. "Slytherin is really rubbing off on you…"

"Yeah," the other girl agreed, not at all ashamed.

But as the girls put together a plan of action for the vernal equinox, still over a month away, a surge of mixed emotions was spiraling through Hermione's mind. This was all for Draco, not her. Sure, she did not really want to be stuck with his Dark Mark for the rest of her life either, but more than that, she wanted  _ him _ to be free. Free of his Mark, his scars, his arthritis… all the reminders of the war, and of times when he had no control over his own life.

Why couldn't he understand that?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta appreciation to I_was_BOTWP for this chapter. Additionally, to Witches_Britches for spending literal hours with me devising different types of wizarding lingerie, most of which did not even make it into this chapter. Good times.
> 
> I also appreciate everyone who takes the time to leave a comment. Thank you, thank you, thank you. How do you feel about the new developments? I'm so curious!


	62. The Oracle Unraveled

**** There were few things more trying on Draco's already-worn patience than Monday morning Herbology.

He had only originally signed up for the NEWT-level class because of its uses in furthering his potioneering skills - something he had been encouraged in at the time by the late Severus Snape. Despite being a greasy son-of-a-bitch with a face that could have curdled fresh milk, Severus had not only been been Draco's Head of House, but more importantly, a good friend of his mother's and his godfather. It was years later now, Severus was dead, and Herbology was now simply a part of Draco's routine, just the same as Transfiguration on the sixth floor instead of the first was now a part of his routine… and taking breakfast early to avoid being shot glares by other students was a part of his routine… and not being able to sleep in the same room as Macmillan's snores was a part of his routine… and watching Hermione's hair curl into a beehive of frizz during Potions was a part of his routine…

He stopped himself. He did not want to think of Hermione right now, but it was just so bloody  _ difficult _ .

Clustered around the outside of greenhouse five, the eighth years were mainly huddled together in groups. The only other former-housemates of Draco's in this class were Theo and Blaise, but Zabini had been excused for the week to return home due to a 'family emergency' (Blaise had been severely unamused by what he considered false advertising - as the emergency turned out to be his mother's eighth divorce). To top it off, because of Nott's growing tendency for showing up at the last possible moment to classes, Draco was alone today. He cursed Theo; it was infinitely more difficult for him to affect haughty superiority when there was no support group to back him up.

Glancing in Hermione's direction, he noted that she was congregated in a circle with Potter, Weasley, Longbottom, and Abbott. Longbottom made some kind of joke, causing Abbott to giggle and sling her arm around his shoulders, while Weasley burst into laughter. Hermione laughed also, but less boisterously so. When Draco's eyes slid over to Potter, he noted that the wizard seemed not to be paying his friends any mind, and his eyes were fixed on  _ him _ . He hastily looked away.

"Inside, everyone, inside!" Professor Sprout called out to the assembled students as she approached.

With a flick of the professor's wand, the greenhouse door flung open and those nearest it began pouring in, eager get out of the cold. Draco hung back, looking toward the castle for Theo, but Nott had still not shown by the time the rest of the class was inside, nor was his silhouette on the horizon.

He trudged in and picked a workstation toward the back. It smelled like earth and a bit like fertilizer, but also distinctly of growing things. Some past students had carved their initials into the wood of the tabletop; he reached out a finger to trace them, wondering who RL + SB were and if they had ultimately worked out.

"Partners of two today," Sprout instructed. It was amazing how such a small witch could produce that amount of volume without even shouting. Draco searched the doorway once more, but it looked as if Theo had opted not to show entirely, which was a new low, even for him. Sprout also appeared to detect the absence as she marked attendance on a clipboard, her eyes lingering on the empty place beside Draco at the work table.

_ I suppose I can work alone, _ he decided, annoyed. Glancing up at Hermione again, he observed she had grabbed a table with Weasley. But where was the other one-third of the Golden Trio…?

A bookbag slammed down on the other half of his desk and Draco's head whipped to the side. "Oh, hell no."

But Potter was already taking out his work gloves and readying himself for the lesson. Much of the class had taken note of the strange pairing and heads were turning, whispers beginning.

"Silence, please," Professor Sprout commanded. Expecting she would be obeyed immediately, she did not wait for compliance but simply began teaching. "Today we will be working with  _ myceliae chrominium _ , so be sure to wear your gloves as they are quite poisonous…"

"Bugger off, Potter," Draco growled.

"Something the matter, Malfoy?" the other wizard answered, feigning innocence, and opening his textbook. "Did you not do the assigned reading before coming to class?"

"Like hell I didn't," he snarled quietly. This did nothing to make their other classmates look away, which only furthered his displeasure.

"Right, I keep forgetting you're Ravenclaw now. You probably swallowed the entire book at the beginning of term." Acting as if he had not been received with acrimony, Harry was now pushing his glasses up his nose and examining the textbook. "It says we are supposed to de-gill the fungus first. What do you suppose that means?"

_ By the grace of Morgana,  _ Draco prayed silently, closing his eyes a moment.

Even after all his years at Hogwarts, there was not much that got on his nerves more than Harry Potter, the Boy Wonder. Cramming his own dragon-hide gloves onto his hands, he seized one of the fungus specimens they were working with, along with a scalpel, and demonstrated, "See these ridges here, on the inside of the cap? Those are the gills. We are using the small blade," he held it aloft, "to cut them out individually. They can be used in antidotes when dried, as drying has a reverse effect on the poison."

Harry chuckled, "You sound just like Hermione."

Draco ground his teeth.

Taking a hold of one of the other instruments from the dissection set they were sharing, Potter examined it a moment before querying, "And what do we use this for?"

"That is a tenaculum, Potter, you don't use it at all." He snatched the incorrect instrument from his unwelcome partner's hand and was even further annoyed to discover that Potter was grinning at him. With a glance around the greenhouse, the noted that several of their peers were listening in on their conversation while trying to pretend like they weren't. Casting a  _ muffliato _ to block them out, he explained, "You'll want the forceps for pulling the gills out, otherwise you might damage the membranes."

"Did Hermione teach you that spell?"

"She did. Why are you here?"

"I needed a partner and you didn't have one."

"The  _ real _ reason, Potter, if you please."

Harry only shrugged.

Turning back to his assignment, Draco stuck the thin blade between the gills of the mushroom with more vigor than intended. Willing himself calmer - it was only Potter, so there really was no need for him to get so riled up - he coolly transitioned, "Fine, if you're going to insist on marinating me in your sanctified presence, you can answer something for me."

"What's that?"

Using the forceps to gently extract one of the ultra-thin membranes, he pretended to be utterly focused on his task when he nonchalantly asked, "Why were you there with Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower that night?"

Momentarily taken aback, Potter's expression clearly told that he had not been expecting that line of questioning at all - which was exactly what Draco had intended. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose again, he warily deflected, "Lots of things happened that night that weren't supposed to."

"Right, just like  _ you _ weren't supposed to be there."

"You were supposed to kill Dumbledore, but you didn't," Harry countered.

"And?" he demanded sourly.

But Potter only shrugged again; it was clear this was not how he had wanted the conversation to trend. "It all worked out, in the end… but it was messy getting there."

Rolling his eyes, Draco grumbled, "Are you going to tell me what happened before I showed up, or not?"

Fixing his gloves, Harry set to working diligently on his mushroom specimen. "Do you know what a horcrux is?"

"A horcrux," Draco repeated, eyes narrowing as he thought. "It sounds familiar, but I couldn't tell you."

"They could be anything, really. Any object - only whatever it is, houses a piece of a person's soul."

Aghast at the idea, Draco's lip curled; he was perfectly aware how a wizard went about ripping his soul, but he'd had no idea that a fragment of soul could be housed in something. He logically deduced, "I'd be willing to wager the Dark Lord had one of those handy."

"Actually," Potter corrected, "he had seven. One of them was me."

Hands frozen over his project, Draco's eyes slowly raised to the wizard beside him, who was still industriously working on his spotted fungi.

"Dumbledore thought he'd found one of them, so that night, he took me to search for it in a cave by the sea near where Voldemort grew up."

An unbidden shiver ran the length of Draco's whole body at hearing the name. He knew there was no power in it any longer, but he still did not like to hear it. Subconsciously, he yanked his left uniform sleeve down further, smoothing out the material.

After briefly summarizing the beginning of the hunt for horcruxes, Potter was soon detailing the discovery of the seaside cave, and of Dumbledore taking it upon himself to drink the potion. The horror of the cave incident was told in such excruciating detail that by the time Harry was about to be dragged down into a watery death by an army of Inferi, Draco had gone pale. Eventually, after a harrowing escape, they returned to the castle - only for Draco himself to come bursting in, confronting Dumbledore and threatening to assassinate him.

"I could tell that you weren't a murderer. You were lowering your wand," Harry said frankly. The entire time he had been relaying the memories, he had been working competently on his fungi specimen with a passable technique that made Draco think Potter had been being stupid on purpose when he initially decided to work with him. "The thing was, Dumbledore made me swear that I would do as he said, so I was hidden below as he asked. But, he… also knew me quite well. Well enough to know that I can be… a bit, er, hot-headed…"

Draco snorted.

"He put me into a full Body-Bind shortly after you appeared. Then, Snape showed up…"

Potter was nearly finished with his tale when Draco realized that not once had the wizard bragged about something he had done. Having always assumed the Boy Who Lived was extremely self-centered, he was unsure what to do with the idea that he might not be. Had he changed? Draco could not remember the past with any sort of definite clarity, clouded as it was by his own inferences of their antagonistic past. Perhaps Potter was not nearly so bad as he had always assumed he was…

"Later on, when we figured out how you got the Death Eaters into the school to begin with, Hermione remarked that you must have been terribly clever to mend a Vanishing cabinet on your own, since they're such powerful magical objects."

As Potter had talked, Draco had been silently reliving the sleepless hell that had been sixth year. He now shot the wizard next to him a look, to see if he was lying; he did not appear to be. He murmured in agreement, "It wasn't easy."

"She's special, you know? My best friend – the sister I never got to have."

Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him now, scrutinizing him. This was a repeat of their initial conversation that same day before the Quidditch match, only this time he was ready to make a different answer. "She's Hermione. Of course she is."

"To think she's gone and fallen in love with  _ you _ , of all people…" Draco was going to dissent, but Potter cut him off when he continued, "Not that she told me so of course, but it's true nonetheless. I've known her for years now, she doesn't have to tell me. I can just tell."

Draco's mouth became a thin line, "We aren't speaking much at the moment."

"I know, and you're driving her spare."

Chancing at look in his wife's direction, he noticed she was laughing over something Weasley had apparently said. Sarcastically, he muttered, "Yeah, she looks really torn up."

Harry shrugged. "She's always been good at compartmentalizing. Cut her some slack, hey?"

Stiffening, Draco queried, "How much did she tell you?"

"She's told me barely anything, actually. She goes to Ginny for girl stuff, believe it or not – but Gin told me just enough for me to get that whatever it is, it's something private between the two of you… something that terrifies Hermione, because she's afraid of losing you."

_ Afraid of losing me? _ he inwardly scoffed.

Though he said nothing aloud, his emotions must have shown plainly on his face, because Potter added, "But there's no consoling her, as she's also on some noble crusade to… what was it? 'Free you of your own past' or something…"

The truth was, Draco completely understood Hermione's inclination to try the kundalini-mandala. Becoming free of his arthritis and that damning Dark Mark forever, was a seductive thought. The innate problem with the mandala, of course, was the sex. Anything else and he might have been fine with it.

First, he had never properly courted Hermione. Instead, he had practically jumped on her and started snogging her in the Stacks that day at the beginning of first term. What he should have done was request to take her into the village, or perhaps a stroll around the lake if a Hogsmeade weekend had not been convenient… talked to her, got to know her… then perhaps, with enough persistence, he might have stolen a kiss. Just enough of a kiss to make her wonder about what else there might be to come, if she were to give him a shot.

Second, he had copped a feel like some kind of crazed animal, unable to keep his paws off of her, that day in the prefects' baths. Granted, she had not seemed to mind – but he should have been a gentleman… invited her somewhere secluded, private, romantic… and then cherished her softly.

Third, he had not even proposed to her correctly. His  _ mother _ had been in the room, for Merlin's sake, and it had practically been coercion! He must have been barmy to do it that way… but she had still said 'yes', even though he had not had enough foresight to even get her a bloody engagement ring. They could have charmed it invisible if she had insisted, but at least the symbolism would have been correct.

But then, even their marriage had been a sham. Only those with something to hide got married at the Ministry. There had been no reception, no honeymoon, not even proper wedding vows. Afterward, they had gone their separate ways as if they had not just bonded themselves in holy matrimony.

In fact, the only thing they had left was their respective virginities, and he had been determined – ever since that gut-wrenching wedding day –  _ not _ to screw that up. He would take his time, make it perfect for her, for them.

Draco was unsure how exactly it had happened, but he had grown into a man of some tradition. Perhaps it was old-fashioned, but to him, a marital consummation was the ultimate claiming - the moment when a husband belonged to his wife, and vice versa. The moment he proved to the woman he would spend his life with, that he wanted none other but her – a promise to give her children if he could, and to bring her bodily satisfaction when she wanted it.

Now she wanted to sully that experience too, because of what it potentially offered… because she wanted to free him.

And now she was afraid of losing him because of it? She might be Ravenclaw these days, but there was fire and gold in her soul.  _ Bloody Gryffindors. _

It was, begrudgingly, part of what he loved about her.

"Earth to Malfoy?" Snapping back to the present, Draco scowled when he observed Potter waving a hand in front of his face. "Thought I'd lost you there, for a moment."

Draco only rolled his eyes. "So, now you are here to bully me into making Hermione happy by giving her whatever she wishes?"

"Not at all!" Harry protested, looking amused at the very notion. "Hermione can do that all on her own. No, I'm here to try moving past our differences. If you're going to be around, and be married to my best friend, then I should probably get to know you, don't you think?"

Stunned, Draco could think of nothing to say beyond, "I… suppose."

Appearing pleased, Potter went back to carving up his mushroom as if he had not just tried to dissolve a years-long grudge. "Though… you're quite the pair, in person and on paper. I mean, what kind of names are Draco and Hermione Malfoy?"

"I'll have you know, my given name is  _ noble _ , like the stars it represents. It is also traditional for my mother's family to bestow the names of constellations on their children..."

Harry looked nonplussed.

"…Meanwhile, Queen Hermione is from Shakespeare's  _ A Winter's Tale _ ." For a moment Draco mused, then added, "I always thought that was a peculiar reference for her parents to make."

"How do you even know about Shakespeare? He was a Muggle."

"Believe you me, Potter, if you want to properly court the Weaslette, you may want to learn some Shakespeare, yourself."

" _ Eugh _ , I did not need the image of you  _ wooing _ Hermione by reciting verse." He made a face, then went on, "That is possibly one of the most revolting things I can think of… though perhaps that's only because I don't particularly want to think about you putting the moves on anyone."

Draco paused. If he was not mistaken, Potter had just engaged him in friendly banter. Disoriented for only a moment, he quickly collected himself and drawled sarcastically, "This may come as a shock to you, Potter, but not all of us have the convenience of a handy basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets go to rescue a witch from, in order to win her affections."

Harry blinked once, twice, then roared with laughter.

The rest of the class went smoothly enough. The two wizards managed something like a neutral banter that bordered on friendliness – something Draco had never thought was possible. When it came time to break for lunch, he glanced Hermione's way only to find her already looking at him. Her eyes were hopeful, searching.

He had to look away before someone saw, because he was pretty sure there was no mistaking what that look meant.

As the eighth years made their way back outside and up to the castle, Draco hung back, pretending to take his time cleaning up the work station he and Potter had shared. Once he was sure Hermione and her friends had got enough of a head start on him, he finally packed up and left. It was too damn difficult, wanting to walk back up to the Great Hall with her. Still, it was better if he kept his distance; he did not think he could face her yet, even a week after their decision to try the mandala.

He had never wanted to fall in love or need someone. He had not really wanted anything. But then  _ she _ had appeared – at first, tenuous and faint like early moonlight – until her hold on him grew to be powerful, radiant. Suddenly, Draco had started wanting everything - with her, from her - it did not matter, he wanted it all. He only hoped she might someday want the same from him.

.

.

He had taken up smoking again. The problem was that it did not calm him as it used to, mainly because Draco now felt guilty indulging himself, given Hermione's point that he was probably also polluting her lungs by partaking. So to atone, he had simultaneously begun tinkering with cigarette substitutes. After coming across a Muggle medical text in the Stacks nearly a week ago, he had started researching ways Muggles got themselves over their addictions, determined to conquer his.

Hermione was in constant correspondence with the Indian alchemists, which distracted her and sometimes made her prone to rambling, so he stayed out of her way. He had hoped that the closer the equinox drew, the more he would become accustomed to the idea of consummating their marriage at last – but the reality was, the more he thought on the idea, the more he hated it… and Hermione's notes, when he did look at them, were so incredibly  _ clinical… _

Because of this, he was barely speaking to her; he observed the reproach in her eyes that appeared after a week of such behavior, but he simply could not bear being physical with her. The notion of their having sex for such a reason made his blood freeze. He could barely even look at her.

All the same, he continued his part of preparing for the ritual by twice-daily checking on his second batch of essence of Salt. He had been sure to select the same cauldron for brewing; he had even opted to concoct it in the same room as the first batch, rather than in their private suite. To his chagrin, it was coming along smoothly, and he experienced a wild moment where he debated compromising it on purpose, but stopped himself.

Time plodded along, the equinox growing nearer. Their suite had come to feel cold and oppressive, and Draco did not like to be there - but he could not avoid it altogether.

One day, about five days out from the dreaded date, his arthritis was acting up more than usual and he was forced there to fetch a pain potion.

In a strange twist of irony, just as Draco had begun distancing himself from Hermione for the sake of his own mental state, Crookshanks had finally decided he quite liked him and had taken to vying for his attention whenever their paths crossed. Draco found him in the suite as he slipped in; the cat was sleeping on one of the wide window-sills, basking in the sunlight streaming in through the panes, but he looked up at his approach and meowed in greeting. Having come to be used to the animal, Draco advanced, reaching over to begin stroking his fur. He was rewarded with a soft purring in response.

A moment later, there was a grinding noise that signalled the opening of the entryway, and he braced himself for coming face-to-face with Hermione, when an unexpectedly male voice remarked, "I knew I'd find you here."

Draco turned, only to find that Theo had strode inside. "How did you even get in here?"

"Always with the bullshit greetings," the wizard lamented with a lopsided grin. "I don't know why I ever expect anything else, anymore."

"I've barely seen you," Draco reminded his friend. "You've been holing yourself up Merlin-knows-where…"

It was true; Theo had taken to skipping most of his classes over the past month, something that both his professors and the other students had taken note of. The few times Draco had seen him, Theo had indicated he was spending much of his time on his own, or consoling Greengrass on her split with Weasley – no longer a recent thing by any means, but still something she was apparently beating herself up over. Draco accepted this explanation without much questioning, as Theo had always traditionally been a loner and there had always been a lot of loyalty amongst snakes, regardless of any re-sorting. Still, he missed the idiot…

But Draco could not verbalize all this, so he only said, "You've not been coming to class."

"Yeah, well, I was trying to stay out of your way, too," Theo amended. He looked a bit peaky, like he might not have been eating correctly for awhile. "You've been on the rampage for nearly a month."

Quirking an eyebrow, Draco queried, "So you opted to just randomly waltz in here?"

"Hey, you're the one who taught me that looking-into-the-past-for-the-password trick."

A smirk stretched across Draco's lips before he even noticed, "So I did. I'd tell you to take a seat, but I'm not sure where you would."

Theo's green eyes searched the chamber, "What is all this?"

On the rare occasions he needed to enter their suite, Draco always tried not to look at Hermione’s experiments. Though he would have thought there was not enough space for more clutter before, the amount of ingredients and information she had amassed in the past month was astronomical. It looked as if she'd had to conjure more furniture just to have places to put everything. The only way to walk, was along one single pathway on the floor between tables and shelves and stacks of books.

"Hermione's been trying to research the alchemical composition of quintessence."

Whistling lowly, Theo ran his hand through his fair hair and looked around at everything once more. After taking stock of everything, he looked back up at Draco, who was still absentmindedly stroking a lounging Crookshanks, "And you're looking for a cig substitute, aren't you?"

Draco nodded.

"I knew you would. I told Hermione so – and to be patient with you."

He shrugged. "We'll see how it goes. I'm not convinced I'll be successful."

"You will be. Sooner than you think."

Draco only shrugged again.

With another perfunctory look around the room, Theo picked his way toward the couch. "So… no divorce then?"

"That's the hope."

"I wouldn't worry. Your family will make the best of the situation."

"I'm not so sure. My father might be able to come to terms with things, interestingly – but mother is very set in her ways."

Finally finding his way to the couch and taking a seat, Theo insisted, "Hermione's current social standing as Golden Girl will help, because it will improve theirs… at least that's how Lucius will eventually come to see it, once your marriage is public knowledge."

"That's…" Draco struggled, "good to know, I suppose. I guess I can't hope for much more than that level of acceptance. Though I wasn’t expecting it from my father."

Theo nosily perused the coffee table, taking in the heaps of small glass dishes filled with ingredients and the small cauldron set up on the iron handle. He reached out to pick up a vial of some green liquid, examined it, then set it back down and moving on to inspect a handful of hairy borage leaves. "So when are the two of you going public, anyway?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the one telling me that?"

"Just trying to make conversation…"

"Well, I suspect that we… wait, Theo,  _ you don't want to touch that _ !"

Too late, Draco noticed where his friend's curiosity had led him. He had peered into a bowl to inspect its contents, accidentally knocking it slightly and coming up with some all-too-familiar silvery powder clinging to the side of his hand.

Looking nervous, Nott peered at the powder and tried to scrub it off with his opposite sleeve. "What is this stuff?"

"It's truth-compelling powder… and now you've got it on both hands."

"Bugger. Like Veritaserum?"

"Sort of… Just don't scrub at it like that, you'll only make it worse, trust me." He conjured a rag, "Here. Try this."

"The thing is," Theo said, beginning to rub at his left hand first, "Astoria and I didn't work out because I just can't care for her like that. She's so young and she's just not the witch for me. We had a fling around Halloween but I broke it off before it got too involved..."

Nott paused in his scrubbing to cast a horrified look at his contaminated hands before looking back up at Draco.

"Yeah, the stuff sucks," Draco agreed at the silent look of damnation on Theo's face. "Just keep buffing it, you'll get it off if you keep at it."

" _ Evanesco _ ," Theo tried, to no avail. Eyes wide, he hastily rolled his sleeves up to his elbows with his unsullied fingers and set to vigorously scrubbing. Presently, he revealed, "My father knew there was a good chance I would be a Seer, seeing as I was a seventh son of a seventh son. During the war, I found out he had informed the Dark Lord of my heritage and its possibilities. He had already promised me to his service. That was partially why I kept trying to off myself…"

He winced, redoubling his efforts at removing the powder. Meanwhile, evidence of Theo's former self-harm obsession was littered all across his forearms in the form of thick, ugly scars. Draco knew this was why his friend had worn long sleeves for the past two summers, opting to use cooling charms rather than looking at reminders of his dark past.

One of Nott's hands soon became visibly free of the powder and he swiftly moved on to the other, eyes squeezed shut as he silently relived the not-so-distant past which the powder had just forcibly revived.

"I really want to reconnect with my sister, but I've Seen that it will only be a larger burden on Serena unless I leave her alone."

Draco felt sorry for Theo, watching him furiously scrub away at his right wrist, still glistening with the silvery powder. He recalled his own tribulations with the stuff on the night he and Hermione had first discovered Ravenclaw's secret chamber. At the time, he had not wanted to appear weak in front of her – at least Theo was in a private place, with only a friend as witness… someone who already knew most of his darkness. Yet, Theo did not seem to be thinking along those lines; truly, he looked terrified.

A niggling thought wormed into the front of Draco's mind:  _ Why is he so nervous? It's only me... _

In fact, Nott now seemed to be experiencing the same sort of panic his father had induced in him to procure those long fingers of scar tissue stretching across his arms in the first place. What was he so afraid of? It wasn't as if he was telling Draco anything he did not already know…

"Hermione didn't ask me what her future was," he revealed. "I tried to get to her to ask, once. Smart girl - she didn't want to know… but it's me. I'm her future unless she stays married to you."

Draco's eyes widened, but he could only stare, frozen in place.

"Fucking hell!" Theo exclaimed in both triumph and agony, throwing the rag to the ground and springing to his feet. He was finally free of the silvery powder's influence, but the damage was done and he knew it. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Draco's.

All was silent between the two wizards for several moments before Draco finally unstuck his throat enough to ask, "What did you mean that you were Hermione's alternate future? What have you Seen?"

Theo winced, eyes downcast like an animal expecting to be beaten. "I don't want her. I want her to stay with you."

Though he wanted to believe him, Draco simply could not bring himself to. If that were true, why keep it a secret?

"Look, Malfoy – really. Over the summer when I had my coming-of-age, it was Significant, as you know. As a dumb tosser with newly awakened powers, what was the first thing you think I did?"

Draco only looked at him, tight-lipped.

"The one thing I shouldn't have done," Theo answered for him, "I looked into my own future. Know what I saw? Hermione, with me – and she was miserable. But I am a bastard, so of course I could never make her happy. She... would have been the reason for me to initiate contact with my sister again, but that only made Serena miserable, too." He took a deep breath and ploughed on, "So I decided, for both our sakes, there was no way I could marry her."

Draco's mouth felt dry. "So what then?"

"Well…" Theo was clearly testing out how much he should be telling him. Draco could see on his face, the moment he decided to seal his own damnation. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Once I had made that decision, I saw that there was an alternate hope that if I stuck to my conviction, you would marry her instead of me – and the both of you would be happy. It was vague, but I went with it. I told you about it and miraculously, once I'd planted the idea in your head, the possibility of it actually occurring grew stronger.

"Then, when I left the two of you purposely alone on that balcony at the beginning of the year," he went on, "I started seeing other glimpses into your future, specifically of your wedding ceremony at the Ministry. So I told  _ her _ about it too, thinking it would cement the future into place so that she could be happy with you instead of miserable with me - but it wasn't until after the two of you bound yourselves together, that you really grew to solidly be happy with one another.

"I saw her being in love with you," he went on, speaking quicker now like he was just eager to rip the rest of the bandage off, come what may, "I saw her giving you kids, I saw you both watching grandchildren coming into the world, and I saw her letting you go at the end of things. I could never give her those things, but she also made you happy. And… now that it's definite, I could never take that away from either of you."

A profound silence permeated the room once Theo had finished. After a few moments, Draco slowly and coolly translated, "So you decided to just alter both our lives, using me and Hermione like test subjects for your newfound gift?"

Theo cringed, and Draco could not help but relish the sight of his discomfort.

"It's why I couldn't help you find her when she went missing that day," the Seer admitted. "If I had, the turn of events ended up so significantly different that… she ended up back with me. I guess there was some information she found out that day that she needed to learn, and if she didn't…" He let the unspoken conclusion hang between them. "I couldn't let that happen."

That was the final straw. His lips curled into something between a grimace and a snarl as Draco spat, "Get.  _ Out _ ."

Theo went, eyes cast down like a dog with his tail between his legs; Draco's eyes followed him out, arrested at the place he disappeared long after the grinding of the gargoyle sliding back into place had faded away.

So this was why Theo had been placed in Gryffindor that year. The great mystery had been finally been unraveled: Nott was brave, but stupid. Of course he was put in with the thrice-damned lions!

On the other hand, if Draco was not mistaken (and he did not think he was), he had just been thoroughly out-Slytherined. Cursing loudly, he kicked the nearest table, knocking it over and sending its contents flying. His toe hurt where it had made contact, but he barely noticed, what with the turmoil wreaking chaos inside his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dodges rotten fruit* So I know some people had guessed pretty close to something like this, with regard to Theo. I hope I did not disappoint you.
> 
> As always, thank you for commenting and kudo-ing. And bucketfuls of love for my beta, I was BOTWP, for looking over this chapter.


	63. Make A Wife Of Me

**** Habitually, Hermione's thoughts and reflections were counted amongst her best companions, but not tonight, on the night she was scheduled to lose her virginity to Draco Malfoy because of an alchemy accident.

The equinox had arrived with little outwardly discernable fanfare. She had packed a bag full of supplies, notes, and other things they might need – more than they could possibly have use for, she secretly knew – and had double- and triple-checked that everything was accounted for. Beneath her robes was the lingerie Ginny had helped her pick out. It was a simple, silk negligee in silver with a tie behind her neck that held it all up. At the last minute, she nearly balked at wearing it – but despite how displeased Draco seemed to be about their intended coupling, whatever his reasons, she knew this would be his first time, too. She owed him at least her best attempt.

As she shrugged her robes on over her uniform, her sleeve rode up on her left arm and her eye caught the disfiguring Dark Mark.

Arrested by the sight for a moment, she scanned the somewhat blurred lines of the ugly tattoo, her finger reaching out to trace the snake that writhed from the mouth of the skull. She wondered what had been going through Draco's mind when he got it, and not for the first time, she was struck by how much he had grown, morally. When had he started to have second thoughts? Before the war? During it? Or afterward?

Ruefully, she slid her sleeve back down and straightened her robes. On her way out of the shared dormitory with her overstuffed bag of supplies, Crookshanks sidled up to her legs and brushed against her ankles.

"Not tonight, Crooks," Hermione whispered softly. He watched her leave, his reproachful eyes following her as she went. Somehow, it seemed an ominous beginning to the evening.

As she made her way through the common room, she would almost swear that the other Ravenclaws could somehow tell she was wearing only lingerie without any knickers under her school uniform and robes. Despite Ginny's reassurances that it would help to set the mood when the time came, it only made Hermione feel more naked, more exposed. She wondered again if it were too late to change.

She met Draco by the dungeons, as promised. He was finishing collecting the essence of Salt, which he had been begrudgingly brewing for the past month. Like the last time, it was a viscous purple paste that reeked vaguely of low tide. Worriedly, she fretted,  _ That isn't going to help set the mood either. _

Noticing her, he gruffly asked, "Have everything?"

Hermione nodded.

He jerked his head toward the corridor outside the potions lab and suggested, "Let's go, then."

They began their seemingly random traipse of the castle in silence – a silence which persisted through the duration of their wanderings, both preoccupied as they were with private thoughts. Draco's strides were long, so that Hermione had to quicken her pace just to keep up with him. Soon enough, she realized he did not consider it crucial that they walk side-by-side. With a sinking heart, she fell back and descended into her own reflections, feeling more and more that the lingerie had been a terrible idea.

Just when Hermione thought she could take no more of the grating friction between them and was about to suggest that they scrap the whole plan, she heard Draco's voice from the corridor ahead, "I've found it."

She frowned. Despite that they had actively been looking for Ravenclaw's study for nearly an hour, its discovery wracked her with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was relieved their search was now over… but on the other, she had entertained a vague sort of latent hope that it might not appear at all. Thus, their decision to move forward with the mandala had been partially out of their control. Instead, it almost seemed as if the room had been waiting for them to find it.

_ Perhaps it had, _ she thought as she turned the corner. She glared at the gold trim that ran the border of the door frame, uncharitably wondering if it was shining more brightly than before simply to mock her. A glance at Draco revealed he was wearing the same sort of expression that marred his brow any time the Ravenclaw tower guardian tried his patience with a difficult riddle.

"I wasn't sure we'd be able to find it," he murmured. Hermione thought he sounded disappointed that they had.

She opened her mouth to ask him if he would prefer they turn back, but he wrenched the door open before she could get the words out. Timidly, she followed him down the now-familiar passage littered with fallen stone and coated in centuries of dust, to the unadorned door at the other end. He entered without her, leaving the door partially open behind him. With a swallow, she stepped into the study.

Yet again, the feeling of the room having just been occupied was prevalent. The floor remained littered with objects and crumpled bits of parchment, though some of the artifacts had been changed for new ones. Someone had leaned a seven-foot-tall barbed pike against the wall, casually as if it had been a walking stick. A pile of books on the desk were stacked comparatively neatly, but was fifteen tomes tall, which made Hermione uneasy.

Draco was waiting for her in the center of the room, the toe of his shoe nervously drawing circles in the aegean carpet. He stopped when she entered, brusquely querying, "Where's this area you spoke of, then?"

She opened her mouth to again try asking him if he would prefer not to go through with their plans, but shut it again. After all their preparation… and this was the easiest way… and they were  _ ready _ for this step, anyway…

_ But are we ready, though? _ Not long ago, she would not have hesitated to answer in the affirmative. For the past month however, Draco had only minimally interacted with her, just enough to prepare for this evening. Hermione had taken to spending more and more time with Theo, who must have sensed that trouble between the couple was bubbling away at a full boil, because he avoided speaking about Draco unless Hermione questioned him outright. Even then, her queries were met with simple, vague answers.

Then, only four days ago, Theo had essentially disappeared. He ceased showing up to classes and was absent during mealtimes, though Merlin knew where he was hiding himself instead. Hermione had tried to ask Draco about it yesterday, but he had snarled at her not to worry herself over Nott, putting an abrupt end to the conversation entirely.

She began having second thoughts about their equinox plans… which naturally gave way to having second thoughts about their entire relationship.

How could they possibly try to make things work between them, if Draco could not even come to terms with the idea of making love to her? How on earth were they ever to work out as a married couple? Should she scrap this plan and simply go through with the divorce?

_ No _ , she decided, firmly. If there was a way to salvage their marriage bond, she was determined to do it.

She  _ wanted _ this with him… even after a month of his coldness, because she knew what was beneath it. She knew who Draco Malfoy was now, and she loved that man, the exceptional wizard hidden beneath his mask. He was her choice - whether or not she was his any longer. Even if it was only to be once, this had somehow become about finally taking that step with him, just as much as it had become about unbinding them.

Hermione frowned as this realization cemented itself into her mind. When had that occurred? When had her priorities shifted?

" _ Decido Templum _ ," she incanted. Just as it had on the day she and Luna had stumbled across the room, a ladder of highly polished wood descended from a trapdoor in the ceiling.

Draco looked upward dubiously, squinting at the dark opening. Hermione wondered if he was squinting more because he needed his glasses or because he was actually curious.

"I'll go first, shall I?" she offered, shouldering her bag.

Without waiting for an answer, she reached for the ladder and began the climb, made somewhat more awkward by the uneven weight distribution caused by her supply bag. She hoped the  _ swish _ of her robes around her ankles would hide the fact that she was not wearing knickers under her uniform skirt, in the event that Draco decided to stand underneath her as she ascended.

Like before, the chamber had the aura of a forest sanctuary. The low dome of the walls and ceiling were covered with twisting tree limbs and winding vines. Tiny fairies twinkled like stars throughout the area, hiding amongst the natural forest that grew there, or else shrouding themselves behind the bolts of bronze-threaded samite that hung loosely from the boughs.

The moment Draco's head emerged into the bower, his eyebrows immediately raised up toward his hairline. He reverently breathed out, " _ Woah _ ."

"Yes," she agreed, her breath catching a bit.

Still half-in, half-out of the sanctuary, he reached slowly out to touch the floor, which was comprised of a soft grass and the same pale blue flowers as before. His fingers paused near one of the tiny petals.

"Myosotis," he identified.

"Muggles call them forget-me-nots."

He glanced upward at her, then hauled himself the rest of the way inside. His gaze was immediately caught by the silvery outline of the mandala already drawn into the grass, then by the luxurious pile of pelts in the center of it. "I don't think you're likely to forget anything that happens here, Hermione."

An awkward silence quickly blossomed between them and Draco looked embarrassed. It was the first emotion other than anger, annoyance or despair that he had shown her in weeks, and her heart leapt to see that side of him again.

He tried, "Not that… well… I don't really know what I'm doing…"

"Neither do I," she swiftly reminded him. Her heart was still fluttering madly. "Come on, let's inspect this mandala. It's only an outline, so expect we'll still have to draw our own over the top of it with the Salt..."

They did. Unlike the time they had excitedly prepared their design down by the Black Lake, silence permeated.

Draco had nicked another paintbrush from the abandoned art classroom and set to drawing their mandala over the pre-existing one. Meanwhile, Hermione began laying out the groundwork for the alchemical symbols for earth and fire, in the appropriate quadrants. Finally, once the Mercury and Sulfur samples had been made as an offering, and Hermione had removed the pelts in the center in favor of some more comfortable blankets, everything was set up.

They stepped backward, but Hermione could not admire their handiwork like she had the last time they set up a mandala. Glancing at Draco, she noticed he looked a bit green, and recognized that her next order of business was making him feel comfortable.

The problem was, she did not have the foggiest how she was supposed to do that.

"Draco?"

He turned.

"Do you want to…? That is… are you ready…?"

Letting out a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his hair nervously, "I'm sorry. Come here?"

Crossing tentatively to him, he pulled her into his arms gently, wrapping himself around her. Resting her head against his chest, she could feel his heartbeat. It did not seem irregular, but the usual sense of easy confidence he so often exuded was conspicuously missing. Starved of attention from him, she wanted to hold him for hours... hours they did not have.

Raising her head, she pressed her lips to his, then pushed gently away, working at pulling off her school robes. By way of explanation, she told him, "I picked out something – or, well, Ginny helped – for you."

Despite everything they had done together, undressing for him this time was revealing in a new way. She pulled her uniform tie off, shucked her shoes and socks, then her robes, peeling away the box-pleat skirt and starched white shirt of her school uniform. Now clad only in the silken slip that barely covered the tops of her thighs, she finally chanced a look up at him.

Draco was standing rooted to the spot, his eyes blazing with… something.

Feeling overexposed, she tried to cover herself with her arms, "Do you think it's too much?"

"Look at you, Hermione…" Reaching out for her, he pulled her back into him. "You're beautiful."

"Kiss me," she commanded.

Their lips met again, and though it felt correct when their tongues melded, something felt slightly off. It was almost as if something was eroding between them: not enough to cause alarm, but just plenty for discomfort.

Slowly, he began shedding his own robes, picking the buttons apart of his uniform shirt, all while kissing her. At some point, he had to step away to pull off his trousers and Hermione's eyes fixed onto him.

_ Between the two of us, we certainly have a lot of scars, _ she noticed as she took in the sight of them all reflected onto his pale flesh. The most prevalent of these were the small burn marks that riddled her person from her stint in escaping the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. The largest scar was Draco's, left over from Harry's  _ Sectumsempra _ , and ran from his shoulder down to his hip. Her own eye-grabbing bruise of mottled blue-and-purple skin, courtesy of Dolohov in the Department of Mysteries, ran like twin lightning strikes down his rib cage.

Her eyes took in the sight of the light, jagged mark on Draco's thigh, which she had no idea the origin of, then combed over to his inner arm, where Buckbeak had struck him in third year for being a prat. She tried to avoid looking at the 'Mudblood' scar on his right arm, or the Dark Mark on the left – two disfigurements in direct juxtaposition of one another.

When she looked back up at his eyes, Hermione was unnerved to find Draco studying her intently with a strange expression written all over his face. It was unusual to see his emotions so plainly, but what truly felt wrong was the expression itself.

There was no mistaking it: regret.

"Draco?"

An instant passed when they both knew.

"I can't do this, Hermione."

"Yes, you can!  _ We _ can…"

"No," he told her firmly.

"But… we've done everything, prepared all this… we're so close…  _ why not _ ?"

"It just feels so incredibly wrong," he stressed.

She took a step back, a new fear dawning. "Is it me?"

"No!" he exclaimed, taking two steps toward her. Grasping her hand, he reiterated, "No. It isn't you."

"What, then?"

"It's this," he gestured to the eerily silent bower with its twinkling fairy lights. "It's that," he gestured now to the mandala drawn on the forest floor. Then, slowly bringing her hand up to rest on his chest, he quietly added, "And this."

Her mouth had gone dry. "I thought… I thought you liked what we did?"

"Oh, I do," he assured her, leaning in toward her to nuzzle up against her ear. The skin-on-skin contact of their mostly-naked bodies caused a shiver to work its way up and down her spine. "Believe me when I say, I very much want to continue… but not this way. Not when it all just feels so incredibly wrong."

"But we could be free," she whispered, her eyes trained on her own inner forearm, where the Dark Mark glared at her hatefully. "We have this moment to unbind ourselves."

"I can't," he reiterated. "I  _ can't _ do this, Hermione, because I don't want  _ this _ to be a sham, too. Like our wedding."

She could feel her own resolve weakening, even as a tiny piece of her heart seemed to break. Her own argument sounded small and unimportant, even to her own ears, when she made it: "Don't you want to get rid of all these scars?"

He ran his thumb along her cheek, brushing her skin softly. "Honestly, I only care because  _ you _ care. I could give a flying fuck about mine. I want us to have a future – and scarred or not, I'll be grateful to keep you."

"We can have that," she promised in a whisper, her heart flipping with delight at his words, "and we can still obliterate all these things… start over fresh. No arthritis, no scars…"

"I don't think I could have loved you, if you didn't have those scars." He continued, "Also… I need to tell you something."

In a deluge, out came everything Theo had said to him five days ago. From the moment in the story where Nott had stepped into their married suite, then to part where he had accidentally contaminated himself with the truth-compelling powder, Hermione was riveted. When the bomb came that, in an alternate future, Hermione had married Theodore, she opened her mouth to protest.

A moment later, she closed it, because the truth was, she could see it. Theo was different from most other wizards his age: lost, remorseful - but hilariously snarky, and loyal. She could clearly see how, had circumstances been different, she might have fallen for the Seer.

But that had  _ not _ happened, and instead, before her was a young man who, despite being similar in many ways, was something more. Here was a person with depth, who recognized the importance of mutual respect between them, and who had overcome prejudice all on his own without her having to show him why his previously bigoted ways had been wrong. He was his own man - and he willingly wanted to share his future with her. And what a glorious future it had the potential to be. With how ambitious and intelligent they both were, Hermione clearly could see how easy it would be to succeed at whatever they opted to take on, if they were working in tandem.

Enigmatically, he broke her train of thought by beginning, "If you can look past my family's name and reputation…"

The thought remained unfinished. Hermione watched the adam's apple in his throat bob as he swallowed heavily, trying not to look at her.

"I can," she told him quietly, hating when he spoke of his past in relation to them. "I can see the man you've become - and he is who I want."

"You're not mad that I kept all that from you?"

She shook her head. "That would be awfully hypocritical of me, don't you think? I just wish you hadn't let it hurt you for so long before you told me. I hope you know that regardless of what alternative future Theodore might once have seen, you are the one I want."

He frowned, "It doesn't bother you that he altered the future to suit his own purposes? That we may have only ended up bonded to one another, because he couldn't not mess with the things he had Seen?"

"On the contrary," she answered, "I'm so very glad he did. Remind me to gift him a thank-you present."

Incredulously, Draco only gazed at her for a moment as if she had finally proven she had gone 'round the bend. A moment later, he huffed out a single laugh.

"Oh, just kiss me already," she snapped, grinning.

He did so willingly; that kiss was a promise, and they both knew it. A promise of things to come, of their future. When they parted, he leaned his forehead against hers and told her in a low voice, "I've got to be the luckiest bastard in Europe."

With a shy smile, she queried, "Does this mean we're not going to hide anymore?"

"I don't think I could stand another day, hiding you," he told her frankly. Glancing around the bower, all draped in quietude, he encouraged, "Come on, let's clean this up and get out of here. This place smells like a seaport and gives me the creeps."

They dressed quickly, each stealing secret glances at one another as they did so. Once the Three Essentials had been vanished, and Draco's carefully drawn mandala had disappeared, the two descended the ladder once more.

"Wait," she stopped them, fishing into her bag. Pulling out both Ravenclaw's and Slytherin's alchemy journals, she fitted them back onto the shelves. At Draco's questioning look, she reminded him, "We said we would put them back."

Taking a final glance around Rowena's hidden study, they finally closed the door behind them. Somehow, Hermione knew she would never be back.

Once their feet had returned them to the present Hogwarts, she said, "I want to drop my bag off in our suite. Do you… want to come?"

Draco acquiesced and led the way. This time they walked side-by-side. Neither could seem to take their eyes off one another.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I have a lot of regret over how I've treated you over the past month. I've been downright rude to you…"

"Stop."

"...Which wasn't right of me. They were  _ my _ demons, which are not your responsibility…"

"Aren't they, though? We’re married."

"...Yes, we are, which meant I should have treated you with more respect. This is not some silly relationship between schoolchildren and I had a responsibility to explain to you how I was feeling about the mandala. I'm… very sorry."

"I know you are," she told him smilingly, heart soaring.

They had to stop to wait for one of the staircases to rearrange itself. The corridor was deserted, but even if it hadn't been, Hermione would still have intertwined her fingers through his. They quietly revelled in the rightness.

"I meant it, you know?" he pressed. They began up the staircase toward the third floor. "No more hiding…"

"I know." Hermione's broad smile widened and she squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, I am completely uninterested in a life without you."

"I don't deserve you," he castigated himself, "especially not after being such an arse…"

"Hush," she commanded. "You were hardly alone in that endeavor. I’m sorry I pressured you into trying this tonight, even knowing your feelings. It’s all in the past now, where it belongs."

On their way to the third-floor, her brain was working in overdrive. Would it really be so bad if they had to share all their physical marks and aches forever?  _ Not really, so long as we can do it together. _

She knew she still wanted to work on what Germain had hinted at and suggested toward a possible way of harnessing quintessence. Only this time, rather than her biggest worry being on separating them, she was going to focus on something infinitely better: her relationship with Draco. That, above all things, had been given secondary status, almost from the get-go.

Acceptance, it turned out, was the easiest way out, their surest cure… and it had been available to them the entire time.

Dumping her bag of now-unnecessary supplies onto the couch the moment she meandered in, Hermione turned to Draco to make a joking remark about their wasted preparation.

The thought died on her lips at the look on his face.

Saying nothing as he crossed the room toward her, his intent was perfectly clear nonetheless. He kissed her lips, then her cheek, her jaw, her neck, smoothing his hands over the tops of her shoulders and part-way down her arms before curving them down, around the small of her back.

"I don't suppose," he drawled, his eyes heated as he played with the little bit of silvery satin ribbon peeking out the back of the neck of her robes, "you would let me have another glimpse of that little number you've got on under those robes… after all, I barely got a good look the last time…"

She chewed her bottom lip suggestively and tilted an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"

He pressed another kiss, two, three, at the corner of her lips. Hermione had never felt more adored than in that moment, almost like he was kissing her reverently.

"I suppose…" she inhaled sharply as he moved back down to her neck and peppered more needful kisses there as well, "…I suppose that would be alright."

Her robes seemed to come off more slowly this time, and almost of their own volition; her shoes and socks were forgotten from the moment they were discarded. Draco shrugged off his robes as she began working on her uniform skirt a second time.

Coming up close to her as she picked at her buttons, he murmured, "Shall we head into the other room, where we can be more comfortable?"

Seeing through the request in an instant, Hermione snickered, "Are you attempting to take me to bed?"

"I know, not very smooth." He grinned somewhat sheepishly, but also defiantly. "Give me a break, it's my first time consciously trying to seduce you. Usually we just work one another up into a state of frenzy and seek release because we're both about to burst."

His statement was true, but the acknowledgement that he was trying to seduce her sent her stomach aflutter with both nerves and something else. She thought back to only an hour ago, when she had consciously reminded herself,  _ It's his first time, too... _

Deciding for open honesty, she only said, "You don't have to try to seduce me, Draco. I'm yours."

Turning on her heel, she took the initiative and shucked off her skirt, now moving to work on the buttons of her uniform shirt as she padded into their bedroom ahead of him. She left her discarded clothing in a pile on the floor of their living area.

The unused bedroom was silent and dark, though a couple candles guttered to life the moment she entered. Her fingers suddenly seemed clumsy on the buttons of her shirt, taking her twice as long to undo them than was usual. Once she finally got enough open, she slid it over her head and let it fall to the floor.

Draco was leaning against the doorframe, watching her undress the rest of the way. Now, she stood before him again in the lingerie Ginny had helped her pick out - but this time, very aware of the way his eyes combed over every inch of her body.

As he drank in the sight of her, she grew uneasy. What if he found a flaw to fixate on? She was not exactly one of the women that usually graced the cover of  _ Witch Weekly _ … she was just Hermione...

"Stop."

She froze, stiffening.

"I can see what's running through your head, and you're beautiful."

Chancing a look up at him, she found his eyes had become stormy; she could not read them. Tentatively, she queried, "Are you only going to stand in the doorway?"

He hesitated. Fixing her with a frank look, he warned, "If I kiss you, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to stop."

_ That's the idea… _

"Kiss me, then."

It was almost as if he was pulled to her by some unseen force, like a magnet; one moment he was standing in the entryway, affecting an entirely unconvincing nonchalance, and the next he was kissing her, incapable of keeping his hands to himself. Maneuvering them backward, Hermione felt the backs of her knees hit the bedspread.

His hands were everywhere, but she still needed more. His lips and his tongue were ravishing her mouth, but it was not enough.

Slipping his hands between them to yank his shirt over his head and allowing it to fall to the floor, Draco gently rocked her backward onto their bed and hovered over her. Hermione could feel her whole body vibrating with anticipation, but though she could feel the length of him hardening through his trousers, he only continued kissing her.

Finally, once she was feeling distinctly like her eyes had begun to cross, she murmured, "Draco?"

"Mm?"

"Are we  _ only _ going to kiss?"

He chuckled, rolling off of her. She sat up to gaze at him.

"You know I can't resist you," he told her. Climbing behind her over the bedspread, he positioned himself so that he sat behind her, their legs dangling together over the side of the bed. Then, pressing kisses along her back, he reached behind her neck and pulled the tie of her negligee. It fell open and her breasts spilled out, and when he cupped them, pressing kisses along the back of her neck as he kneaded them, Hermione decided that for someone who had claimed not to be very smooth, he was doing a pretty good job. She could feel the nakedness of his chest pressed against her back, the heat of his skin warming her where she was exposed.

There was a chill in the chamber that seemed to seep out of the stone walls and that, coupled with the anticipation swiftly building in her core, had hardened her nipples into taut peaks. Draco pinched one and rolled it, causing her to elicit a gasp. He was still littering purposeful kisses along the back of her neck, her shoulder blades, and the side of her jaw. She shivered.

He paused, "Are you cold?"

"No," she answered, shifting so that she could stand to turn around and face him. Placing her hands on the tops of his thighs, she saw his eyes flicker toward her exposed breasts before he forced them back to her face. "I was just thinking that when you're sitting behind me like that, I can't even see you. I haven't done much of that in the past month."

"I know," he admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Really," she pressed, taking his hand for emphasis and squeezing it, "don't. I'm tired of apologies, especially from you. You have no need to offer me them."

"Don't I?"

"A compromise, then," she proposed.

"I'm listening."

"Do you want to stay with me, Draco?"

He frowned, then stood so he could speak with her on equal footing. Taking her other hand so that he was now holding both of them, he reminded her, "You know I do."

She leaned in close to the shell of his ear to whisper, "Then make a wife of me."

Expecting that his lips would have crashed into hers with a sinful promise at her blanket statement of readiness, Hermione was surprised when he hesitated.

"What is it?"

He fiddled with the tie of her negligee, which was only held up at her waist. "Are you sure?"

She reached up to tuck a stray lock of blond hair behind his ear and tried to make him understand with her eyes that she was being completely truthful when she answered, "Beyond a shadow of a doubt."

The tensile strain that had been evident in his expression for the past month or more seemed to ease away. Tilting her head down, he kissed her forehead and then pressed his own against hers, closing his eyes as if to bask in the moment. He said, "I've waited a long time to hear you say that."

_ Don't I know it, _ she thought, wishing their path to now had been less fraught with indecision and stubbornness. Most of it her own.

She thought of the way Draco's pale eyes had sparkled when they had successfully made their mandala, torrents of wind and rain ensconcing them in their glory. Their combined cleverness and magic had conjured something beautiful... and it had been on that night that Hermione had truly, undoubtedly discovered that there was a depth to Draco Malfoy she had never expected to see.

Her fingers found the button of his trousers and freed it before she began working at his zipper. Draco helped her slide them down his legs, leaving him clad in only his boxer-briefs. By now, she was no stranger to the look and feel of his shaft and though it had been nearly a month since they shared any kind of encounter, she felt mostly confidence as she kissed down his neck, swiftly sliding down the smooth planes of his chest and stomach, and hovering over his hips.

Hooking her fingers under the waistband of his underwear, she kissed his member through the material; his eyes were rooted to her, hypnotized. As she slid the garment down, Hermione found herself face-to-face with his insistent erection. Glancing up at him, she saw that he was watching her with intensity, his face overcast with want. She batted her eyelashes teasingly and smiled.

Kissing the tip of him, she swirled her tongue across the head once, earning her a stifled groan. Pleased and intent on teasing him, she kissed where his waistband had sat again, just above his shaft, and then kissed up his chest before capturing his lips. In that kiss, she tried to convey the playful, part-wickedness that was currently trilling through her body.

Draco was ready to match her appetite; his slate eyes were smoldering with need. In a single, fluid motion, he stripped her of her negligee, which had pooled around her hips and sat, waiting for removal. Picking her up by her rump, he tossed her gently onto their bed before crawling atop her. Caged in by his arms, which had landed on the bedspread by either sides of her head, Hermione's body was hot where he touched. She vibrated with both eagerness and a touch of nervousness, somewhat deadening her pliancy.

"Relax," he murmured into her mouth. It somehow sounded more like a caress than a suggestion.

"I am relaxed," she answered, a little too quickly. With her newfound false bravado, she continued, "Draco, I want you."

His lips crashed onto hers somewhat clumsily and impatiently. When he broke away, he breathed out, "I'll go slow."

Her body tensed up a little. "Okay."

When he kissed her next, it was deep, passionate, and honest. She could feel the press of his erection, heavy against the skin of her stomach as he kissed her ears, down her neck, then licking each of her nipples on his way down. He continued downward to admire what he was about to take, licking at her slit briefly to wet her, then staying a bit longer to help prepare her. The strokes of his tongue, hot and wet, caused her legs to fall open to him more, allowing him better access.

When he lifted his head after only a few moments, his fingers skimming along the prickled flesh of her hipbones, stomach and breasts, he looked her frankly in the eyes and queried, "Ready?"

A shy smile, masked with decisiveness; her cheeks flushed. Her eyes gave him permission even before she agreed, "Yes."

The slightest flicker of a smirk. He repeated the promise, "I'll go slow."

Pressing her legs even further apart to open her up to him, his eyes had darkened with a hurricane of emotions. It took a few tries for him to fit the crest of his cock at her entrance and not to slip off. He met her eyes, she offered him a nervous smile and he notched into her just a bit.

She inhaled sharply. He shot her a last questioning look and she nodded, gripping his shoulders.

Steeling herself, she squeezed her eyes shut in worried anticipation, only to ease them open again when Draco pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Melting into him just as he pushed - hard - she felt herself give beneath the pressure, and elicited a low whimper into his mouth before ripping her lips from his.

Though she had expected the spike of discomfort, her eyes pressed shut as she attempted to accommodate him. In what she hoped sounded like a brave voice, she admitted, "Ow."

Sounding worried, he tentatively queried, "Should we stop?"

Her eyes wrenched open again to find him regarding her with concern. Despite everything - with how much had led them to this moment - she glanced down. She could not see where his body joined with hers, as their bodies were pressed together, but she could feel the intrusion. Nerves frayed, she barked out a nervous half-giggle, "Draco, you're  _ inside _ me."

"Ye-es," he agreed, looking momentarily concerned for her sanity. "Do… you want me not to be?"

"It stings a bit, but I think…" by now, the initial pain had already begun to dissipate. Grimacing, she wiggled her hips a bit to adjust, and Draco hissed out a ragged breath. "What?"

"I'm not sure I'm capable of stringing together a coherent thought at the moment," he admitted shakily.

She frowned, "Is it bad?"

Sounding somewhat strangled, he disagreed, "No… no, just…"

She giggled. It was not often Draco Malfoy found himself at a loss for words. The way his cheeks had tinged pink and how his eyes had gone slightly glassy was adorable. "Try moving."

He hauled in a breath and pulled partway out of her, only to slide back in with a groan. "I'm not going to last very long."

To her mind, maybe that was not such a bad thing, as she was still having a difficult time wrapping her mind around the fact that this was actually happening. He moved again, hovering over her as he thrust slowly, and she glanced down. Her eyes caught the place they were fused, and somehow that made it all the more real.

Her eyes met his and found them rooted to her face. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him in for a kiss and requested, "Don't stop."

The first couple of his thrusts following her words were somewhat clumsy, until he found a rhythm to his movements. She felt on fire, her fingers tangled into his hair, and soon enough, the act ceased being something to be borne and began feeling pleasurable. The sting and burn had faded away, leaving only the feeling of being filled to capacity, again and again. She leaned upward to kiss him at the same time he leaned down to do the same, and their faces ended up colliding, noses bumping.

"Ow!" she exclaimed.

He burst into laughter, falling somewhat on top of her and accidentally sliding fully out of her. It was so awkward, she began to giggle.

Still grinning broadly and trying to stifle his snickering, Draco tried to line himself back up to her entrance to continue, but ended up spearing her in the leg, which made her burst into a second fit of giggles, that quickly transformed into a sharp gasp when he actually found his way the rest of the way back in. It did not take more than a couple thrusts for them to find their rhythm again, all their nervous awkwardness forgotten in the time of two heartbeats.

Soon, a strange sensation began building in Hermione's sacrum - a familiar, delicious sensation like the build up of an orgasm.

"Hermione…" Draco gasped out. There were beads of sweat building up on his forehead. She surveyed him; he looked close. That same sort of contracting of his brows was occurring that usually happened when she brought him to completion with her mouth or hand.

She knew she was not going to be able to join him; he was going to finish before her. Ginny had said that would probably happen. Hermione leaned in - carefully this time, as she had learned her lesson - and kissed him before murmuring, "Don't stop."

"I don't… think I can," he gasped.

His movements, which had picked up a steadiness, suddenly became erratic. With wonder, Hermione thought she could feel him growing harder inside of her, and then, with a great gasp, his cadence suddenly slowed and there was a sensation of being filled with warmth.

He thrust once more, his deepest yet, and remained there. Quickly, he leaned down, brushing a sweaty curl or two away from her forehead, and pressed a lingering kiss there.

When he pulled himself from her body, there was a sensation of being emptied. Hermione gazed up at him to find his eyes fixed on her quim.

"Gods," he murmured.

She glanced down to find that her most intimate place was slick and covered with his release. Looking swiftly back up at him, there was a moment that passed between them where he simply stared into espresso-colored orbs and she gazed back into his grays with their tinge of azure blue. Then, a grin broke free, stretching across her mouth, "I can't believe we just did that."

A carefree, almost boyish smirk tore across his face. "I love you."

She laughed, hugging him around the neck and not caring that they were both sweaty and quickly becoming smeared with other bodily fluids. "I love you too."

He sobered a moment, the smirk sliding away, and looked at her seriously, "I feel bad that I didn't get to bring you. I just… I couldn't…"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Stop. It was perfect."

He snorted disbelievingly.

"Okay," she amended, "it was perfect for a  _ first time _ . Ginny told me that women rarely get to orgasm during their first time having sex. But I'm sure you'll make it up to me next time."

He snatched at her hand where it had crept down to cup his face, and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of each of her knuckles while maintaining eye contact. "I  _ very much _ look forward to next time, wife…"

She shivered.

"And the next time… and the next…" he was kissing down her hand now, pressing a heavy kiss to the inside of her wrist. "And the time after that…"

"Draco!" she gasped, tearing her arm away from him and giggling. Her legs squirmed and she pulled the sheet up around her waist. Hesitantly, she admitted, "I think I need a bit of time before we can do that again."

Face crumpling somewhat with concern, he queried, "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she assured him. Then, with a glance around their finally-used bedchamber, she requested, "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

"I'd love nothing more..."

The sea of stars beyond their window shone in the sky for a few hours yet, until one-by-one they winked out, exhausted at the very idea of daybreak.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been agonizing over this chapter for weeks now, but I'm still not convinced it came out right. Several large swimming pools full of smooshy gratitude to my beta, I_was_BOTWP, for helping me get this to a place where I finally felt okay with posting it.
> 
> I also want to sincerely thank everyone who took the time to leave a comment. Yes, I'm sometimes terrible at responding to them all... but I love reading them as they come in, even though they sometimes make me smile inappropriately in public spaces. Seriously, thank you.


	64. I Think You Mean 'Malfoy'

**** In the early morning, it rained steadily for an hour or so before petering off into more of a drizzle, misting onto the windows until enough droplets had collected that a rivulet would form, winding its way down the glass and collecting at the bases of the panes. Despite the misty quality of the morning, the sun rose just the same. Reluctantly, rays of daylight stretched across the sleepy Hogwarts grounds, slowly quilting it in golden brilliance.

Hermione blinked awake to the sight of a pale arm slung around her and the Dark Mark staring in her face. She squirmed uncomfortably, both from the proximity of the hateful tattoo, and because she desperately needed to use the loo. Turning to Draco, who was on his side and spooning her from behind, she discovered he was still asleep. He got rest so rarely, she did not think she had ever seen him sleeping before. Heart swelling with fondness, her gaze flickered from his face, to the place where a few locks of his light hair had curled under his ear.

Taking great care not to disturb him, she disentangled herself and slowly rose from their bed. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, which shocked her system. Ripples of gooseflesh ran down her body as her nakedness was exposed to the chill in the air that characterized the early spring morning.

She made her way toward their bathroom with a surprising amount of aching. Her body was a little sore from what they had done, and when she leaned down to retrieve her discarded school robes from where they had lain on the floor all night, she noticed a very small amount of blood sticking to the insides of her thighs. There was also something else, a different sort of stickiness that she did not think was hers, but Draco's.

_ I can't believe we did that… and not even in the mandala, _ she reflected, thinking of the way he had felt when he moved inside of her.

After relieving herself, she debated a shower, as there was a muskiness that seemed to be clinging to her skin. Glancing quickly in the mirror, she was struck by her appearance and paused a moment. Her hair was wild - though that was nothing new - but it was her face that seemed different. Almost like it was visible on her lips and in her eyes that she was a woman who had shared a bed with her husband, at last.

Tearing her gaze away from her seemingly altered self, she shook away the fancy and allowed her practical side to chalk it up to imagination. Deciding it might be best to wash up after all, she prepared for a shower.

The water was warm and soothing, and exactly what she needed. For several minutes, she merely stood under the showerhead with her eyes closed, savoring the slow relaxation of her muscles. Soon enough, she heard the door open slowly, followed by the sound of someone sneaking in.

She smiled when Draco's head poked around the curtain. Tilting an eyebrow, he queried, "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course," she answered, feeling oddly shy in his presence, even as she made space for him to join her in the shower. She was not sure where she should be looking.

"I can't believe you left this morning without waking me."

Uncertainly, she queried, "Is that rude?"

"Very," he confirmed seriously, though his eyes laughed at her.

A smile spread across her face and she reached up to tuck his darkening hair behind his ear before allowing her fingers to follow a trail of water down his neck. Catching her hand with his, he pressed a kiss onto the backs of her knuckles.

"Well, Mrs. Malfoy," he hummed, eyes locked onto hers, "are you ready to brave the gossip mill of Hogwarts?"

Hermione shuddered. Grimacing, she put on her bravest face and sighed, "No. But let's do it anyway."

.

.

There were more than a few whispers in the Great Hall when Hermione and Draco appeared together in the entryway. He placed his hand on the small of her back to draw her closer and murmured, "Where would you like to sit?"

Eyes scanning the room, she noted that Daphne was sitting beside Tracey Davis at the Ravenclaw table, with Theo across from them. Normally this might have been relatively neutral ground, but for the fact that Hermione had not seen Theodore in some time and that he was one of the only ones in the hall that did not seem to be looking their way. Combing over the cavernous room a second time, she observed that Ron was eating with his Quidditch team, which left Harry and Ginny with Luna at the Slytherin table.

"Will you sit with Ginny, Harry, Luna, and me?" she queried.

"I saw that coming a mile away," he admitted, looking both smug and highly irritated. "Alright, let's do it."

"Thanks," she whispered, suspecting he was more relieved not to be sitting with Theo than he was letting on. As they were fully committed to going public, she figured she might as well go the whole way, and pressed up onto the balls of her feet so that she could leave a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Gossip erupted almost immediately, with some students even craning their necks to get a better look at them. A small group of former-Slytherin sixth- and seventh-year girls immediately began consoling a tall brunette amongst their number, who burst into tears at the sight.

Somewhat used to the rumor mill at Hogwarts (which could turn very nasty, very quickly), Hermione ignored everyone. After all, being friends with Harry had certainly come with its downs as well as its ups. Draco, too, was familiar with it. Due to his known association as a Death Eater, he was frequently given a wide berth by the other students, though Hermione also knew he was well aware what others said about him behind his back.

Reaching the Slytherin table, she turned to her friends and tremulously queried, "Mind if we sit with you?"

Rolling her eyes, Ginny sarcastically drawled, "Like we're going to say 'no'..."

Simultaneously, Harry answered, "Of course."

Grateful, Hermione slid onto the bench across from Luna and Ginny, and next to Harry. "Thanks."

"Hello, Draco Malfoy," Luna greeted, airy as usual as she added a small mountain of brown sugar to her porridge.

"'Morning, Lovegood," he responded, genially enough, as he sat beside Hermione. Then, saucily, he acknowledged, "Weaslette."

Ginny stuck out her tongue at him before moving on to pouring herself a glass of orange juice as if sitting with Hermione and Draco together were a commonplace thing. Harry was absentmindedly chewing on some bacon and continued scribbling away at a bit of parchment he had brought to the table.

Feeling more confident as a result of her friends' easy acceptance, Hermione conversationally asked, "What have you got there, Harry?"

"Quidditch strategies."

"I want you to remember that you did this," she told him, "next time you're teasing me about bringing a book to the table."

"That's different," Ginny jumped in.

"How?"

"Quidditch is life. Ancient Runes… not so much."

Draco smirked and helped himself to a cup of coffee, inhaling the aroma and closing his eyes as he took his first sip. Subconsciously, he leaned into Hermione's side as if he could not get enough of touching her, even casually like this.

The moment was broken by a shriek of, " _ Draco _ ?"

His eyes snapped open and Hermione turned to see Pansy Parkinson had stopped, mid-stride toward her House table, and was staring at the two of them. Her face was haggard, as if she had not slept the entire night, and her eyes had gone round like a pair of silver sickles.

To his credit, Draco only lightly responded, "Good morning, Parkinson."

The former-Slytherin girl's mouth fell open and she hastily shut it, only for it to fall open again. She looked a bit like a gasping fish. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked from the hall. Gossiping erupted once more and Hermione's eyes fell to the Hufflepuff table, where she caught Ron's eye. His face was not a full red, but it had certainly gone pink and he was staring at the place where Pansy had disappeared like he envied her, her escape. Nearby him, the other members of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team began whispering amongst themselves, most notably Sally-Anne Perks, who was a known gossip. Hermione wondered if Sally-Anne was remembering the night Hermione had dropped a drunken Pansy Parkinson back off in the Hufflepuff dorms without reporting her. Enough people had seen Draco assist her as far as the common room; there was little doubt word had spread they'd been there together.

_ Why can't they mind their own business? _ she inwardly grumbled.

Handing her a piece of toast which he had generously slathered with greengage jam for her, Draco remarked, "Ignore it."

Taking the toast, she decided he was right, and did her best to comply.

A little while later, the first warning bell sounded for morning classes and they all stood to gather their bookbags. Ginny left for Care of Magical Creatures, while Luna wafted off in the direction of Divination.

"On to Transfiguration?" Harry queried, looking at the other two.

Hermione glanced at Draco, who was shouldering his bookbag, ready to join them. The three of them set off in the direction of class.

Just as they were about to step onto the stairs, a voice called, "Oy!"

Harry turned first. "Ron?"

Despite that Hufflepuffs did not share Transfiguration with the Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and his class was in the opposite direction, Ron quickly caught up to them. Without even sparing at glance for Harry, his eyes shifted back and forth between Hermione and Draco at a speed that nearly made her dizzy.

"So," he grunted, "you two are official, then?"

Hermione laughed, "What gave it away?"

Draco's hand slid into hers and he affirmed, "Hermione and I decided last night that there was no more use in hiding."

Ron grimaced, not bothering to hide it, "I still hate it when you call her that."

"What else is he going to call me?" she queried.

"Why can't he just go back to 'Granger'?"

A sinful smirk spread slowly from the corner of Draco's mouth to stretch across his face. Looping his arm around Hermione's shoulders, he lazily, but proudly, drawled, "I think you mean 'Malfoy'."

His face changing to red faster than a traffic light, Ron was spared responding to Draco by the sudden presence of Daphne flouncing past them. The statuesque girl stopped on the first step of the stairwell and turned to Hermione, Draco, and Harry, querying, "Are we going to Transfiguration, or not? It's a lot of stairs and Professor Buchanan doesn't like it when we're late…"

She had utterly ignored Ron, whose ruddy face had now entirely drained of color at seeing her.

"Hey, Daphne," he croaked out weakly.

Fixing him with her most imperious stare, she spared him only a second of her notice before turning on her heel and resuming her climb.

"We're coming," Hermione called, hitching her bookbag higher on her shoulder. Then, looking back at Ron, she mouthed, "Sorry."

"Weasley," Draco drawled in parting, slipping his hand back into Hermione's and leading her up the stairs after Daphne, who had slowed to allow for their approach.

Below, Hermione heard Harry saying to Ron, "Better luck next time, mate…"

Staring at Daphne's rigid stance, coupled with her steely expression of not-entirely-convincing nonchalance, Hermione mulled over the odds of there ever being a next time.

.

.

"I know a word of letters three, add two and fewer there will be."

"In the name of Morgana," Daphne wheezed as she took her final step onto the landing of Ravenclaw Tower after them, "why is it a different riddle  _ every time _ ? Don't they ever repeat?"

"That's a good question, actually," Draco mused.

Hermione ignored them both; her tongue was peeking out of the corner of her mouth, face screwed up in concentration as she dissected the riddle. Finally, she answered, "The word 'few' is three letters, and 'fewer' is five."

"Too true," replied the eagle head door-knocker, swinging inward.

"For Circe's sake, I'd have spent my whole lunch break on this landing!" Daphne exclaimed in exasperation.

The three Ravenclaws entered the common room together; it was mostly deserted, as the majority of the school was at lunch. However, a few students were holed up in corner desks, or else surrounded by notes at one or other of the tables, rapidly attempting to memorize as much information as possible. Hermione's stomach flipped uncomfortably at the thought that in a short two-and-a-half months, they would be sitting for their NEWTs. It was almost unsettling to witness others beginning preparations before her; something that had never happened during her residency in Gryffindor Tower.

"Right, we'll grab our things and meet back here in a few," she said, turning back to the task at hand.

"Blaise is going to have a field day when he discovers I've moved out," Draco observed, eyeing the boys' staircase that rose off to the left. "Bloody  _ gossip… _ "

Daphne giggled, "Come on, Hermione."

The two of them ascended the girls' side on the right and Hermione found herself releasing a held breath when they found the eighth-year dorm empty. Without any sort of decorum, Daphne strode over to Hermione's trunk at the foot of her bed and flung it open, dragging it toward the middle of the room.

"Right. This shouldn't take long, you're pretty tidy."

"Thanks for agreeing to help me pack up, Daphne. You're a good friend."

In the month following Sue's and Daphne's fallout, things between the Ravenclaw girls had been rocky at best. Hermione would deny avoidance on her part - she had needed the extra time in the library or the married suite to focus on the unbinding ritual. Not to mention her woeful under-preparation for NEWTs.

Sue had pointedly avoided communicating to both Hermione and Daphne, and when she had to speak of them to others, she merely referred to them as 'the Gryffindor' and 'the Slytherin' respectively. Initially, Padma had appeared to take her friend's side, but over time, had slowly seemed to recognize that Sue was in the wrong, as she kept stealing more and more furtive glances at the two of them.

Ever the kind one, Lisa had quickly recognized that Daphne had been avoiding Hermione; correctly deducing that it was because she had snapped at her, Lisa reached out to both Hermione and Daphne separately on several occasions during the week after, until she finally contrived to get them both together. Daphne's apology had exploded from her mouth like it had been bubbling there for some time, though Hermione had immediately insisted it was unnecessary.

Daphne now seemed to be thinking about the same incident, because with a glance toward Lisa's bed, she said, "It's hard work being friends with a Hufflepuff, you know? Because you know she's acting out of the actual goodness of her heart."

Hermione had to laugh at that. "I'm so glad she does. Lisa certainly is something else."

While had Lisa continued to spend most of her time with Padma while in Ravenclaw Tower, she had gone on treating all of her dorm-mates as if nothing had happened, and her easy cheerfulness was a kind of balm. She had even tamed Hermione's hair one morning for her when it had snapped her last hairband...

Bringing herself back to the task at hand, Hermione began rummaging through her bedside drawer and floating things over to her trunk. She paused when she came across her wedding band.

A simple circle with no adornment whatsoever, the white gold band was unassuming, yet, meant so much to her. She fiddled with the necklace she wore - a plain chain with a small pendant displaying her birthstone - which had been a gift from her parents. Then, her eyes caught the bracelet which Harry and Ron had gifted her back in September, the blue stones glinting in the light from the fireplace.

Given that she wore jewelry from all the other important people in her life, slipping Draco's ring onto her finger felt perfectly natural. It was heavy - but not in an oppressive way… and it made her feel a certain way when she looked at it, which she could not quite place. It felt something like coming home.

Feeling a gaze on her back, she noticed Daphne looking at her and had caught her admiring the band with a grin spread across her face.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione snapped, also grinning.

"Never." She paused, "I assume this means the two of you are going to the Spring Fling together?"

Hermione started. "With everything else going on, I confess I had completely forgotten about it."

Dumping a stack of books Hermione had left in a corner into her trunk, Daphne announced, "I'm thinking of going stag. Millie is, too. Having a man around seems suddenly like so much less of a necessity to me."

With wonder at her friend's newfound self-assuredness, Hermione suggested, "You could take Theo, as friends. It would be good for him to get out, I think. I've noticed he's been skipping all his classes..."

Looking deflated, Daphne confirmed, "Not  _ all _ of them… but he's not in a good mental place, it's true. I'd think he's been trying to get himself kicked out of school, except he still turns in all his essays and gets full marks. For a little while, I thought he was getting notes from someone, but he's not spoken to anyone except me and - get this - Neville Longbottom, of  _ all _ people! I can't figure out how he's doing it!"

Hermione had a sneaking suspicion she knew  _ exactly _ how Theodore was achieving full marks on all his essays without attending classes, but she did not speak her deductions aloud. It was not her secret to tell, after all.

To change the subject more than anything, she went on, "Well, you've got time to decide about the dance. It isn't until May, anyway. You've got a little over a month."

"I don't think I'll be changing my mind," came the firm answer.

"Okay."

Seeming almost consternated, Daphne queried, "What? Just…  _ okay _ ?"

Hermione shrugged.

"You're a strange witch, Hermione Granger."

"That's Hermione  _ Malfoy _ to you," she teased. "Come on, I think we've got everything, and we still have to drop it oft."

After shutting the trunk and performing a feather-light charm on it, the girls made their way back down into the common room, where Draco was waiting for them beside his own belongings. One of the first things she noticed, was that he had put his own wedding band on, as well. She also noted, with intrigue, that he was now also wearing his family's signet ring.

_ Interesting... _

"Shall we?" Draco suggested, levitating his trunk.

"Does this mean I get to see your private suite?" Daphne queried, looking excited.

"You can come, but we are just dropping off our things."

That was still good enough for Daphne's curiosity, and she followed them both. About halfway there, she began trying to convince Draco to start speaking to Theodore again. "I think you should forgive him. Whatever he's done, it can't be so bad… it's Theo we're talking about here. He's  _ castigating _ himself."

"Leave it, Greengrass," Draco warned.

Sensing at least a temporary defeat, she did, but Hermione could tell Daphne was not done with the cause. By the time they arrived at the suite, she had moved on to discussing NEWTs - a topic which Hermione latched on to with vigor.

They had to hastily drop their things and leave, so that Daphne barely got a perfunctory look around the room. It was still just enough time for her to exclaim, "What a mess!"

"Hermione's been experimenting," Draco offered in explanation. "Come on, we've barely enough time for lunch as it is…"

.

.

"I noticed you put your family's signet ring back on."

Draco glanced up from the container he was currently labelling, causing a droplet of ink to fall off the tip of his quill and seep into the carpet. This went unheeded as his gaze went to the ring on his hand. "Yes. Although I'm planning to make some changes to it."

"Oh?"

After classes were done for the day, Hermione and Draco had retreated privately to their suite to begin packing up all of her experimenting, labelling each ingredient into its own separate container and organizing them all into a cupboard with an extension charm on it. They had been doing so in relative silence for nearly an hour, which was only occasionally punctuated by the occasional question from Draco as to what a certain item was, and once by Hermione, who grew frustrated when her inkwell had run dry.

"I'm planning on changing my family's motto.”

Hermione looked to him in surprise.

Noting her expression, he further explained, " _ Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. _ Purity always conquers. It seems the wrong sentiment to have."

Guardedly, she advocated, "It does also showcase how far your mindset has come."

He waved this away, insisting, "I've thought about it at length. I think it's the right decision."

Smiling at him, she told him, "I'm very proud of you, Draco."

He huffed out a single laugh, his mouth curling into a private half-smirk. When it faded, he turned back to labelling the container ( _ Bark of Carya ovata _ ) with his elegant penmanship. After a pause, he quietly added, "I think about our vows a lot, as well."

"Our vows?" she repeated, curiously.

"They were so staggeringly generic," he observed, "so unlike all of the wordy ones I'd always expected to have to deal with when I married someday. You may not know this, but traditional pureblood wedding rites can go on for hours. When I was nine, it remember the agony of having to sit through five hours of ceremony.

"It got me thinking, when it's all stripped down to its bare bones, the real important bits of a marriage seem to be what everyone considers to be stunningly generic: do you take this woman to be your wife? To commit to her the fidelity and loyalty of your body and your possessions? To honor her, to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as long as you both remain bound? The instructions to a marriage are so  _ simple _ when you put it that way."

Looking over to him, Hermione discovered him still idly writing away at a new container ( _ Spleen of Field Mouse _ ) in his calligraphy, as if he had not just said something profound. In fact, there he was, just simply wearing his glasses and his Ravenclaw uniform, brows slightly furrowed into concentration as he picked up the next dish and attempted to discover what was inside of it in order to label it properly. Her heart stopped in her throat and she merely stood there a minute, determined to commit this passing moment into the banks of her memory forever.

Spotting her looking at him at last, something of her emotions must have shown on her face, because Draco set the dish of questionable ingredients down and crossed the room toward her. He took her hand and said, "I hope those are happy tears."

Rubbing at her eyes, she had not realized any tears had escaped - or that there had been any moisture there at all. She nodded, hoping to reassure him.

"It's been a long road getting here, hasn't it?"

She nodded again, "It's all adventure from here on out."

Indulgently, he agreed, "I'm sure that Gryffindor part of you is longing for adventure, isn't it?"

She laughed, a throaty sound due to her emotions, and wiped at her eyes again. "Aren't you excited, too?"

He fixed her with an amused look. "I'm just glad to be rid of Macmillan's snoring."

Seeing the laughter in his eyes, she swatted at him.

Then, grinning, his gaze turned toward the door that led into their bedroom. Tilting his head in that direction, he lightly tugged on her hand while a mischievous look sparked into existence in his eyes. "You know, the bedroom is still comparatively empty… and I've a inkling on how I may endeavor to cheer you up..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader, do you have any idea how awesome you are for going out of your way to leave me a comment (or kudo) and making me feel all the warm fuzzies? You're amazing. Sometimes, I get frustrated... and sometimes, you are the catalyst to helping me push through that frustration. Thank you... so, so much. I appreciate you, because without you, there would be no story.
> 
> Additionally, I want to thank my beta, I_was_BOTWP, who knows this fic almost as well as I do. It would not be the same without her invaluable input.
> 
> Much love.


	65. Liaisons

**** Now that the cat was officially out of the bag with regard to their relationship, Hermione and Draco had moved in together full-time. It was unclear how many thought that they were merely dating, or knew that they were married - it hardly mattered. There had been remarkably few hiccups in the revelation.

Before Defense Against the Dark Arts on Tuesday morning, Ernie Macmillan had taken Hermione aside to "be sure she was feeling quite well." Catching his meaning immediately, she had been sure to assure him that she had never felt better, and was quite happy.

The next day, Seamus and Dean simultaneously cornered her after a Potions lesson with the intent to find out if Draco was treating her as he should be. While Ernie's intervention had forced Hermione to hold back her desire to hex her fellow Ravenclaw, this time, she understood where the wizards were coming from.

"I am perfectly happy, I promise you, boys," she told them earnestly, sliding the last of her supplies into her bookbag. She was glad Draco had left the classroom ahead of her, so he would not have to hear this conversation taking place.

"I'm glad to hear it," Dean told her honestly, his kind eyes searching her face.

Seeming to take his cue from Dean's easy response, Seamus insisted, "It just seemed... sudden."

"We've been hiding it for awhile," Hermione answered truthfully. Glancing up the stairs toward the dungeon exit, she suspected Draco was probably waiting to accompany her to dinner. Eyes flickering back to her two former-housemates, she smiled, "It felt really good to finally get it all out in the open - you know? To stop hiding who I was... and who I loved."

She raised her eyebrows at the two wizards and looked at them both meaningfully; Seamus's face flushed, while Dean shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

"Right." Seamus cleared his throat, throwing a significant look at Dean. "I can understand that."

"I appreciate you checking in on me," she assured them, making toward the dungeon exit. "You're good friends."

Draco, however, had fared a bit differently in his interactions with others. He had been apprehended by a Slytherin seventh-year he had never taken note of before in his life, who proclaimed that she had always loved him, and that he was too handsome to throw himself away on an ugly witch like Hermione.

Though Draco had defended his wife's territory - and her beauty - to the witch, the girl simply refused to accept what he was saying. Draco had to resort to being saved by Blaise, who happened to be passing by at the time… something Zabini made sure to relentlessly tease him about, for days afterward.

He also noticed that Lottie Gary, the vociferous second year, had been tailing him from time to time -  _ especially _ when he was with Hermione. The two of them wondered about that, especially given that the girl never said a word to either of them.

Otherwise, life went on, almost as usual. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Daphne, and Luna's early acceptance of them made going public nearly seem easy. They went to classes, ate, studied, and took patrols as they always had - but at night, instead of trudging up to Ravenclaw Tower, they retired to their own suite, and to privacy.

Truly, the only one whose presence in their lives was missing, was Theo.

Nott was still avoiding the world, it seemed. He continued to skive off his classes, and could be counted on to be absent at every mealtime. It was as if he had turned into a ghost, disappearing from sight when he chose, and with his own agenda. The only one he had spoken to, was Daphne.

When Hermione questioned her on this, Daphne only shook her head, "I had intended to give him hell; Astoria is still all beat-up over his ditching her, back around Halloween. But honestly, one look at him… and I just didn't have the heart."

"What does that mean?" Hermione queried, frustrated.

Daphne just looked sad. "He isn't taking care of himself."

"I want to talk to him." She knew Theo should not be taking his fallout with Draco so hard. Even Draco had agreed: in light of the fact that everything had turned out fine in the end, and that Theo had only had their best interests at heart when he took to meddling, Draco would forgive his friend.

_ Surely he knows that, though… _ The conundrum made Hermione's head spin as she lay awake at night.  _ Why is he still hiding? _

.

.

It seemed no time at all had passed before it was the Wednesday before Easter Break and Hermione was packing up a weekender bag. In a short time, the couples' suite had come to feel like home, and she knew she would miss it. Picking and choosing which of her belongings to take for the week-long return home was never an easy task - but this time, there was a haze of sadness that hug over the act, somewhat different from any she had experienced before.

"Are you going to need any of this?"

She turned to see Draco gesturing to the three mid-sized trunks that were stacked on top of one another against the wall, and which she knew contained the plethora of alchemical experimentation she had done on the truth-substances. As the trunks were under a window and out of the way, Crookshanks had made himself comfortable on the very top like a throne, and was snoozing in the sunlight.

Shaking her head, she answered, "I hadn't planned on working on any of that over break. I think I'll only take a couple of the journals, for reference. Just in case."

"Okay." He disappeared into their bedroom, only to emerge a moment later. "What about this?"

Looking up from where she was now sorting through books to pack, her pulse began to throb the moment she saw Draco pulling the thatched box she had hidden away in their bedroom closet. Eyes widening, her eyes snapped toward Crookshanks.

The cat's gaze had immediately been drawn to the box. Scampering from his perch in the sun, he swiftly tore toward the exit to the suite. Barely a second later, the gargoyle had let him out, and he was gone.

"Great," Hermione bemoaned. "It'll be  _ ages _ before I can get ahold of him now."

Draco glanced down at the box in his hand, "What is this thing?"

"It's Crookshanks' cat carrier. He  _ hates _ it. I was trying to hide it from him until the last minute."

"Oh." He looked down at the carrier once more. "I see it now."

"It's alright," she assured him. Inwardly, she cursed herself for not warning Draco ahead of time; Crookshanks might easily make himself scarce for a few days now and she would only get one more chance at capturing him. With a sigh, she stood, took the carrier from Draco's hand, then placed it on the floor before wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. "Kiss me, will you?"

"Bossy," he teased, eager to comply regardless.

It felt right, kissing him in their little shared suite. When they broke apart, she admitted with a little sigh, "It feels sad, leaving."

"It's only for a week," he reasoned.

"I know." The rational part of her had already accepted this. "It's just a whole week I have to spend without you, is all."

Draco's eyes hardened. "We will have to make arrangements for after Hogwarts. There are extra rooms at the Manor - whole suites we could take over."

Stiffening, Hermione hesitated a moment before responding honestly, "I… don't know what to say."

"You don't have to. I can feel how much you hate the idea."

"I'm sorry. It's a beautiful manor house, truly, Draco…"

"...And substantial, weighted, and hard," he finished. "I know. But we still have some time. We'll think of a solution."

Having been in a somewhat melancholy temper all evening, Hermione soon fell into brooding. Having to leave Draco for a week, coupled with Theo's self-imposed disappearance from their lives, had put her in a strange mood.

Pulling her in close, Draco whispered into her ear, "You're sulking."

"I know," she admitted somewhat sheepishly, "I'm sorry. I just can't help it."

"Perhaps," he murmured slowly, hand trailing down her arm, lingering in the crook of her elbow a moment, "I can help take your mind off of things…"

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched upward, "Purely out of the selflessness of your heart, is that right?"

"But of course," he answered softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he tried to stave off the beginnings of a smirk. "There…  _ is _ something I've wanted to do for awhile now..."

"Oh? Do tell."

The waiting smirk slid into existence on his lips while his hand reached up to fondle one of Hermione's curls. "How would you feel… about a bath?"

She blinked, "A bath? At this hour?"

He raised his eyebrows.

Heat rushed to her face, "Oh! A  _ bath _ ."

Though he rolled his eyes, he mostly looked amused, "I see you've caught on."

Swatting at his arm, Hermione bent down as if to tie one of her laces… instead, pulling down her knickers (new and improved, thanks to Ginny's catalogue) from under her skirt. When she stood back up, she lifted Draco's hand and deposited the scrappy garment into his palm. With a wink, she said, "I'll go get my bath things."

He gaped at her as she sashayed into their bedroom to retrieve her dressing gown.

The two of them grinning foolishly at one another on their way out the door, their attempt at surreptitiousness was foiled by the gargoyle at the exit: "Oy! Where do the two of you think you're going at this hour?"

"Off to take a bath, of course," Hermione told it, all innocence.

Their guardian eyed Draco suspiciously, "Not with that look in your eye, you aren't."

Draco chuckled, tugging at Hermione's arm to get her to move. "Afraid we can't chat."

"But…!" protested the gargoyle.

He finished, "Don't wait up."

The statue stared a moment at their slowly retreating forms before calling after them, "Mind your curfew!"

Hermione giggled as they turned the corner, out of sight; Draco's eyes were alight with mischief. Minding their path to avoid any prefects that might be on patrol that evening, they soon found their way to the fifth floor prefects' baths. Checking to be sure that there were no occupants inside, the two of them entered the larger of the two rooms and slid the lock shut, closing them off from the rest of the world. With a flick of Hermione's wand, the enormous tub swiftly began to fill itself with water.

Alone now, Hermione was hyper-aware of Draco's hungry gaze on her, but instead of intimidating her, it made her feel powerful. Pressing open the button at the front of her skirt and pulling it down, she allowed it to fall into a puddle by her ankles as she worked on tugging her shirt over her head.

Reaching behind her back to unhook her bra, her eyes caught view of Draco and discovered that he had hastily discarded his shirt, but was struggling with his pants, focused as he was on watching her disrobe. A self-satisfied smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Though he was a courteous lover, her husband was not a patient wizard. Pretending that she was not watching him watch her, Hermione took her time with her clasp, pretending to fumble with it.

He came up behind her, murmuring, "Let me help you."

Hands grazing her back, she could feel gooseflesh rising in the wake of his touch. The next moment, he was brushing the garment off her shoulders, where it fell onto the tile to join the rest of her clothing at her feet.

She turned to face him, nipples already puckered with anticipated pleasure, and placed her hands on his chest. Allowing her fingers to briefly card through his sparse chest hair, her hands were soon trailing down his his stomach... and her thumbs were hooking under the waistline of his boxer-briefs. It was the last article of clothing either of them were wearing, but they, too, soon fell to the floor. He stepped out of them, lurching forward so that they were touching in a way that caused her her nipples to rub against his skin. It did funny things to the pit of her stomach.

Judging from the stormy expression of impatience he was wearing, she was not the only one affected. She smiled at him to be sure he knew that she was aware of  _ exactly _ what she was doing to him.

Flouncing off without warning, Hermione made her way toward the steps that led down into the giant tub. The moment the water touched her feet, she sucked in a breath; it was the perfect temperature, and it felt oh-so-good to slip beneath the surface. Despite that the bathroom itself was as hot as a sauna, the room was enchanted so that the water in the pool felt comparatively cool, and would remain in a state of stasis.

Disappearing under a coverlet of purple and green bubbles that were steadily rising as the tub continued to fill, she resurfaced on the other side of the gilded repository, pushing her wet hair out of her face in time to see that Draco was crossing the room toward the stairs as well. His erection bobbed lightly as he walked, and her eyes could not help but be drawn to the motion.

"See something you like?" he drawled, smirking at her.

Her eyes flickered back up to his face and she smiled saucily. "Why yes," she answered slowly, drawing out her vowels. "I do."

He sank into the water and waded over toward her, stopping only inches away. Intentionally refusing to back up, she reached out and put her arms around the back of his neck, taking in the glistening water which dripped from her own skin and down the front of his torso.

Tilting his head, Draco pressed a soft kiss to her lips that grew heavier in the space of an instant. She absentmindedly wound her hands through his hair, closing her eyes and leaning into him to savor the taste of his mouth.

They must have been kissing more vigorously than she had realized, because a few moments later, her back was pressed up against the side of the pool and her eyes fluttered open.

"I need you." His words fell like silk against the bare, wet skin of her shoulder.

Sucking in a breath, she nuzzled her nose into the side of his neck and softly queried, "How do you want me?"

Their teeth clicked briefly as he jammed his lips back onto hers. Just to tease him, she slipped her tongue into his mouth, withdrew it, then slipped it back in, as if to imitate what he  _ could _ be doing instead of only wanting it.

He got the message, loud and clear.

"Turn around," he commanded, eyes blazing. "Turn around - and put your elbows up on the side of the tub."

A thrill of impending gratification thrummed through her veins as she complied, posting her elbows on the floor by the side of the bath so that her backside peeked out of the water, just above the bubbles. Presently, she felt Draco's hand just over her tailbone, slowly sliding across the wet smoothness of her skin, his thumb taking the lead as he trailed downward. Coming alongside her, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade, just as his hand crept lower and his index finger slipped inside her heat.

A moan escaped her.

"Well, you  _ are _ ready for me, aren't you?"

"Are you only going to tease?" she demanded hotly.

With a chuckle, he moved through the water so that he was behind her once more, and countered, "You've been teasing me for  _ far _ longer than I've been teasing you…"

"Well, are you a gentleman, then?" she challenged. "Or am I going to have to do it mysel…  _ ah _ !"

In a single, fluid motion, Draco lifted himself from the tub, perched atop her and sank into her. Her eyes took in the straining muscles of his forearms on either side of her, and marveled only a second at this surprising display of upper body strength before he began to pound her.

"Y-yes!" she gasped. Hermione's face was nearly pressed against the tile now so that her line of vision was limited to only Draco's fingers splayed out on the floor, knuckles white. "Draco, yes!"

He grunted with the effort of the position, briefly readjusting his torso - and then, without mercy, he began to ride her. Her breasts were pressed almost-painfully against the floor, but the way her aching nipples rubbed against the porcelain tile was a kind of pleasure she had not anticipated. The water quickly began to slap against the sides of the tub, splashing up where she was bent over and sliding forward to collect in small rivulets between the tiles.

It was an unforgiving pace. Draco's hips continuously snapped forward to bury himself into her again, and again, and again - and she cried out each time, until it became a single, long wail of ecstasy. A fire was swiftly spreading in her abdomen as he claimed her; blood was roaring in her ears. Hermione began to feel light-headed from the exertion of passionate frenzy, coupled with the heat of the room and the steam pouring in waves from the water's surface.

Dizzy and dazed with the plethora of sensations, the dam within broke all at once, and nearly without warning. With a scream of orgasmic combustion, Hermione's body undulated beneath Draco's as her climax ripped through her. Her frenetic thrashing and sudden stiffening led him directly into his own orgasm, roaring aloud as he dissolved into pleasure.

Spent, he collapsed across her back, making it difficult to draw a full breath.

"Draco!" she gasped. "I can't  _ breathe _ !"

With some effort, he groaned and rolled off of her, sliding back into the water. "Sorry," he apologized, "my arms…"

His forearms were bulging with the strained cords of muscles. Hermione was unsurprised, considering how taxing it must have been to hold himself up like that for so long, all while fucking her. Sliding off the side of the tub and back into the warmth of the water, she curled her arms around the back of his neck and poured her heart into the kiss she pressed to his lips. "It was amazing."

Basking in their shared afterglow, Draco's forehead fell forward to rest against hers. Hermione noticed that his shoulders were still tensed, and became suddenly aware that her own shoulders were creaking and screaming. The effects of his compromised joints and tendons were beginning to take their toll, even despite the soothing effects of the warmth enveloping them - now that the adrenaline rush had worn off.

"Here," she murmured soothingly, pulling back and beginning to wade through the water so that she was behind him. "Let me get your shoulders."

"You don't have to."

"Of course I don't," she agreed, massaging her knuckles softly into the tensed muscles of his upper back. "But it helps."

She set to work unraveling the knots in his back and shoulders, and nearly made it down to his forearms before her fingers began to cramp with arthritis. Some time later, the plug was pulled from the bathtub and Hermione began the arduous task of toweling down her hair. As they dressed, both still basking in contentment, Draco cast one last charm to clean up the place after them, and they headed back to their suite.

.

.

"Care to go first?" Hermione invited with a sweep of her hand.

" _ Lumos _ ." Draco's wandlight flickered on to shine a beam of luminescence into the cave. It did not immediately fall on anything, and for a second they could only hear the dripping of water from the ceiling.

Having been dry all fall and winter, it seemed that a spring thaw had been what it took to render some of the castle's underground passages damp and unwelcoming. Truly, the caves were Hermione's least favorite part of their prefects' rounds.

A soft, small snuffling noise ricocheted through the tunnel.

"Someone's there," she murmured, her mind already flashing to an image of Pansy Parkinson down here with her latest paramour. Lately, however, though they had continued to find the Hufflepuff there, it had more often been with a bottle of mead or wine - and even more recently, hard liquor - than with a wizard of her choice.

This time, however, while their wandlight did fall on a figure to reveal that it was Pansy, it also fell on a second form.

Theo.

Hermione had barely seen him in so long, she was shocked to find that he looked gaunt with sunken eyes, like he had not slept in an age. Without thinking, she exclaimed, "You!"

Theo nodded, glum but unsurprised. "Me."

At the same time, Draco's gaze had swiveled to Parkinson. "What's happened?"

Now taking in the rest of the scene, Hermione realized that Theo had been comforting a partially sobbing Pansy, who mainly looked as if she were in shock. Hermione also noticed, that while the witch did not seem to be drunk, she was not entirely sober, either.

Neither was Theo. Eyes glassy, even as his arm was around Pansy's shoulders in solidarity, he croaked, "She's got a letter from home."

Hermione felt an unexpected spike of anger: this was the first time Theodore had been in either Hermione's or Draco's vicinity in nearly a month - but instead of there being some kind of reconciliation, here he was, inebriated and with an equally altered Parkinson, acting as if none of it had ever happened.

How dare he be avoiding her when it had been him that had sought her out as a friend in the first place?

But Nott's next words drove all that from Hermione's mind entirely: "It's Pansy's brother, Lucien... he's killed himself."

Draco sucked in a breath beside her. "Holy shite."

Pansy emitted a small, strangled sob-like sound before dissolving into noiseless tears. Her shoulders shook as her head lolled forward; the agony coming off her was palpable.

"How did it happen?" Draco asked quietly.

Hermione immediately felt like an interloper.

Theo glanced up at the two of them, dull green eyes blinking a moment as he adjusted his glasses. His cheeks looked hollowed out, and Hermione was vaguely reminded of a post-Azkaban Sirius Black. "Never reconciled with himself from being on the losing side of the war. He got to using potions on himself - and yesterday, he took the wrong combination."

Eyes flashing, Draco recalled, "Lucien knew potions well."

Continuing to rub circles onto Pansy's back as she gave in to her grief, Theodore nodded in agreement, "It wasn't an accident."

"Shite," Draco said again. His eyes were on Pansy.

Hermione might have felt jealous, except that she knew where she stood in Draco's estimation… and she could not help feeling genuinely bad for Pansy Parkinson, for the first time in her life. Clearing her throat, she suggested, "Maybe… maybe we should take her to Madam Pomfrey? Get her some Dreamless Sleep…"

Both wizards looked up at her, and even Pansy's eyes raised somewhat. The distraught witch spoke for the first time, "Yes."

"What's that, Pans?" Theo murmured.

"I want the Dreamless Sleep," she clarified, raising her chin. "I… I want… to forget it… for a time."

Draco and Theodore shared a look, while Hermione's eyes darted back and forth between the two. They almost seemed to be communicating without words. Finally, Nott agreed, "Alright. Let's go. We'll help you get there, okay?"

"I don't need," she hiccoughed, bloodshot eyes narrowing at Hermione, " _ her _ help."

"Hermione's coming along, Parkinson," Draco insisted softly. "We're on prefect rounds."

"L-like  _ that's _ true!" she hiccoughed again. "The two of you… probably c-came down here to… to…"

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her. "Certainly not. We use a private room for that."

"Your children are going to be  _ half-bloods _ , Draco!" she shrieked.

Swiftly, Hermione decided, "Actually, maybe it would be a good idea if I went ahead. Let Madam Pomfrey know that you're coming."

Trying not to meet her eyes, Theo agreed, "I think that might be best."

"Right." With a last look at the three former-Slytherins, she turned on her heel and made for the exit.

It took her very little time at all to find her way to the Hospital Wing, and even less time to inform Madam Pomfrey about the situation. The nurse shook her head sadly at the news. "I remember Lucien from his years here. Such a shame… and Miss Parkinson was in a bad way already. Her health has been rapidly deteriorating all school year. This is a hard blow."

A few minutes later, Pansy made her appearance, supported by Draco. The healer dismissed Draco and Hermione, intent on helping Parkinson into a bed.

As the Hospital Wing's door shut behind them, Hermione's brow furrowed and she queried, "Where's Theodore? I thought he was coming with you?"

Draco shook his head, "He opted to return to Gryffindor Tower."

Though she let it drop, something about that did not sit well with her.

.

.

_ I am going to put this down as one of those things I never thought I would see, _ Hermione decided as she watched Draco and Ron sitting opposite one another across a game of wizard's chess.

"Your move, Weasley," Draco drawled. He was casually leaning back against the train seat cushion, as if he had not a care in the world. Meanwhile, Ron was hunched over the chessboard, his brows furrowed in concentration. A moment later, his expression cleared.

"Check," Ron announced, moving his bishop to claim one of the pawns that had been blocking Draco's king.

The other wizard frowned. "You should not have done that."

Smiling to herself, Hermione's attention went back to the page of her book, where it remained for the duration of the rest of the chess game. It was a close match, which Draco ended up losing, but only just. In an act of consolation, Hermione allowed him to rest his head in her lap while he stretched out across the remainder of the cushioned seat, knees bent as he lay. She began stroking her fingers through his hair as she read until he closed his eyes, savoring it.

A short while later, an uncomfortable Ron announced he was going to go find Seamus and Dean, leaving Hermione and Draco alone with Harry and Ginny.

Ginny, who had been busy deciphering some arithmancy published in  _ The Quibbler _ to supposedly reveal one's future, finally looked up at her brother's departure. Noticing that Harry was staring pointedly out the window, her gaze went to Hermione's lap, where Draco was smirking lazily.

She rolled her eyes, "Oy, get a room, you two…"

"We have one," Draco responded, still not opening his eyes. "You're just here, too."

She rolled her eyes a second time, causing Harry to snicker and generally query, "Anyone for a game of Exploding Snap?"

Which was how Hermione came to be smiling into the pages of her book a second time, when she got to witness Draco playing opposite Harry at a game, with both wizards behaving themselves.

Soon enough, the train began to slow and the platform came into sight.

"How are you getting home?" Draco wanted to know.

"My parents always come to meet me," she answered. Feeling conscious about what he must be thinking of such an arrangement, she added, "I know I could Apparate, but Mum likes picking me up."

Nodding, he looked very much as if that were the answer he had wanted to hear. Hermione's suspicions were confirmed when he escorted her to pick up their luggage, and followed her back out into the Muggle world beyond the barrier.

"Hermione!" Natalie Granger was shouting, waving her arms like crazy.

"Is your mother always so exuberant?" Draco queried in a low voice, but was cut off when Hermione broke into a run to meet her mother partway.

Once Draco caught up to the women, and Natalie had finished hugging, and kissing her daughter on both cheeks, she turned to him. "Oh, it's lovely to see you again, Draco, dear."

"Likewise, Dr. Granger," he answered, and made to shake her hand, when he was pulled into a hug just as Hermione had been, both his cheeks also kissed, as if he really had been her child. He stood there a moment, stunned at the unabashed display of affection.

"Do call me 'Natalie', won't you, darling? Between Todd and myself, being 'Dr. Granger'-ed all the time does get confusing."

"Oh," he said artlessly. "Right. Certainly. Thank you, Natalie."

Both Mrs. Granger and Hermione giggled to hear him say it, glancing at one another conspiratorially. Hermione had kept up a regular correspondence with her mother while at school, and while she had not gone into particulars in her last letter, she had dropped strong hints about the developments in their relationship.

"Would you like to come for tea, Draco?"

Perking up, he accepted, "Thank you."

Slipping her hand into his, Hermione murmured, "That means you get to ride in the car with us."

"Your father's waiting for us in the parking lot," Natalie explained. "It's packed, so the only way to get a decent space was to have him wait with the car in the loading area. Have all your things?"

"In our pockets," Hermione answered, patting her hip. "We shrunk them on the platform."

Natalie chuckled, "This way, then."

It was a two-hour ride home, but to Hermione, it was the first time it had not felt like it. Todd Granger was surprised to see Draco accompanying them, but his wife must have warned him of the possibility beforehand, because he was cordial to his son-in-law, if uncharacteristically formal. They discussed the term at Hogwarts for a while, and when that was exhausted, Natalie began regaling them all with anecdotes about some of her patients. When finally, both Draco and Todd had loosened up somewhat, Draco began to ask a lot of questions about how the car worked, and Todd happily pointed out many of the buttons around the vehicle and explained what they did.

Eventually, Hermione had to ask Draco to stop opening and closing his window while they were on the highway, and he sheepishly complied.

It was only once they had arrived at the house and were all supplied with tea, that Draco revealed his purpose for coming. "I would like to take Hermione house shopping."

Natalie smiled at him, "The two of you are married. You hardly need to ask our permission."

"It felt right to ask," he insisted. Hermione noticed he was neglecting his tea. "I never asked for permission to marry your daughter. I thought it only right to make it a request to take her from you in a different manner."

Surprised by his announcement, Hermione queried, "What about the Manor?"

"Yes, but  _ you _ don't want to live at the Manor," he reminded her. Looking at her significantly, he insisted, "I don't care where I live, so long as you're there."

True to his word, he scheduled some showings for nearly every day of the week. By Wednesday, Hermione's head was spinning with locations, facts, and prices. Her mother brought her a cup of hot chocolate that evening and the two of them sat up together, while Hermione filled her in on everything.

"Still haven't found the perfect one, though?" Natalie queried.

Hermione shook her head.

"Ah, well," she shrugged. "You'll find it. Patience is key."

"I know… it's just a lot of information to take in, at once."

Her mother smiled fondly. For a few moments, it looked as if she might reply with an opinion, but instead only asked, "Finished with your cocoa? I can take your mug down."

"Mum?"

"Yes, love?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but then closed it again, shaking her head. "I'm just glad that everything worked out… the way it did."

"Me, too, honey," Mrs. Granger smiled from the doorway, their empty mugs clutched in both of her hands. "Me, too."

.

.

On the Friday before they were to return to Hogwarts, Draco had scheduled a few more house showings for them. By the time they had finished, however, it became clear that none had appealed to them both yet.

"Would you like to grab lunch with me in Diagon Alley?"

Possibly remembering the last time they had both been there together, over Christmas break, Draco hesitated a moment before agreeing. Hermione experienced a brief mental flashback of hiding in Muggle London together _. I think the closest thing I've ever felt to religion is when I'm with you… _

"What is it?"

She glanced up, wondering what he could mean. Draco was looking at her curiously. "Sorry?"

"You're brooding," he observed. "Tell me what's going on in that vast brain of yours."

"I just… I've been thinking about Theo all week. Him and Pansy. Down in those caves."

Draco nodded understandingly as they strolled down the cobbled street. It was only partially occupied - not nearly so packed as it had been around Christmastime - and very few folks had glanced their way. Hermione tried to ignore that two such lookers had stopped in their tracks to gape at the sight of the two of them together.

"Pansy might have been seven years younger than Lucien, but the two of them were always close," Draco explained as they walked. "They grew up in their family’s manor house, cut off from most others. The Parkinsons never mingled much, except at social gatherings. She adored him, their parents adored him. I don't think any of them will be alright for a good, long while."

"It's not that I don't have sympathy for her," Hermione interjected. With a shudder, she claimed, "I do. It's got to be  _ awful _ to lose a sibling like that. Especially if he took his own life… but I keep thinking about  _ Theo _ . What was he doing down there? We haven't seen him in ages, and suddenly, there he is… acting as if nothing's changed, when it  _ has _ ."

He went quiet a moment before softly reminding, "I suspect it's because Nott knows precisely what it's like to lose a sibling, or several… and because Pansy's inherent prejudices make it so that she will not accept solace from any but a select few. Her parents did her a disservice in teaching her that the world was purely black-and-white."

"I see." They had come to the restaurant. "But Theo…"

"Will come around when he's ready, Hermione. I know him. He will."

He made it clear that the subject was closed, and Hermione supposed she could hardly blame him. Who wanted to go house-shopping with their wife, and afterward, talk about their ex-girlfriend and the friend that had double-crossed him?

Deciding that she, too, was ready to change the topic, she waited until they were sitting down and were supplied with their meals, before asking, "So where are we going to go first? Once we graduate, I mean."

Draco's eyebrows raised and he paused a moment. "You know you don't need to do the whole travel-for-six-months thing now? Since we won't be divorcing…"

"Are you saying you don't want to travel the world with me?" she queried coyly.

"I have a feeling we're going to be spending a lot of time visiting museums and libraries," he sighed, amused. "But yes... yes I do."

"I figured we could have a proper honeymoon."

The way his eyes lit up was like a man who had won the lottery. He breathed, "We can go wherever you want."

"Well, in that case," she said, no-nonsense, "can we stop at Flourish & Blotts after we've eaten? Since we're here?"

Caught, he sighed dramatically, as if this were a great travesty of sorts and fixed her with a frank look, "We're going to be  _ forever _ in there, aren't we?"

Hermione only smiled sweetly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who has been reading. I truly do have the best readers on AO3; I am humbled by, and grateful for, you all.
> 
> Lastly, I gotta say a bit about my beta, I_was_BOTWP... for being fantastic and making time for this chapter during the chaos of moving into her new home. Thank you.


	66. Ifs & Nonsense

****The next day, Hermione awoke to an owl rapping at her bedroom window. It was quite early, but once her eyes had creaked open, she recognized Noctua. Stiffly, she made her way over to allow the bird inside, and the fearsome eagle owl stepped onto her chest of drawers. She carried a missive from Draco:

_Apologies for the late notice, but will you take tea at the Manor today, at half-past noon?_

_-D_

Inwardly, Hermione groaned. She had no wish to return to Malfoy Manor any time soon - but on the other hand, as she was now married to a Malfoy, she supposed she should probably learn to set foot in their ancestral home… regardless if she would be living there or not. She sent Noctua back with an affirmative response.

After breakfast with her parents, she chose a pale pink cardigan and a pair of nice jeans to wear, and nearly stepped into her trainers before slipping into ballet flats instead at the last moment. Even if she did not want to be there, there was something satisfying in at least dressing up a bit for Draco. As he had not specified any particular mode of transportation for her arrival - uncharacteristic for him - she opted to simply Floo over. It would be an excuse to use the fireplace from home for a change, for even though she had set up the Floo network last summer, she had rarely used it from her parents’ home.

By noon, she was anxious from waiting, and chose to head over early. Steeling her nerves, she grabbed a fistful of Floo powder from the small supply she kept in her trunk, and headed over.

The moment Hermione stepped out of the fireplace at the manor and onto the marble floor, she was flooded with memory. In direct juxtaposition to the sunshine of Chichester, it was storming in Wiltshire. The darkness outside threw shadows oddly across the interior, and though she had not expected it, Draco was not there to meet her.

Instead, her mother-in-law lounged just nearby in an opulent, clawfoot armchair. She appeared to have been waiting for her.

“You’re early,” Narcissa observed, looking not at all surprised. As usual, her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed and she was dressed to the nines in silken robes. “Draco hasn’t even begun to expect you.”

A sense of foreboding filled Hermione; suddenly, she was apprehensive about her choice to arrive early.

Possibly sensing this trepidation, the witch grimaced, as if her next words tasted like bitter medicine. “Don’t be spooked, girl. I am only here to gift you something.”

Hermione’s eyebrow quirked in surprise.

“It is a tradition that a mother-in-law gifts some of her family’s gemstones to her new... daughter.” Narcissa’s eyes flickered to Hermione’s wrist. “But I see you wear some of the Black family gems already.”

Looking down at her wrist where the bracelet of sapphire-like stones glinted in the light from the gas lamps, Hermione agreed, “Yes. It was in the vault Harry was left by his godfather. He’s had them re-set…”

“...And yet, I would have recognized them anywhere. They were once my mother’s.”

Unsure what to do with that information, Hermione said nothing. The idea that the truth-revealing gemstones had once belonged to a supremacist pureblooded woman had already occurred to her, but it somehow felt different once there was a known entity to put a sort of claim on them.

“She was a Rosier, my mother. She married my father, Cygnus Black III, as a part of an arranged marriage… just as I was arranged for Lucius. Just as Draco would have been arranged for a pureblooded woman of good breeding. Perhaps one of the Greengrass girls, or one of the Miss Rosiers...”

Still Hermione was silent, simply watching Narcissa as she reclined in her armchair, her dainty foot jiggling slightly in its satin slipper. It was the only indicator that she was at all agitated.

“I believe Mr. Potter is now a Slytherin, yes?”

The abrupt change in subject nearly gave her whiplash. “Yes… that’s true.”

“Well,” Narcissa sighed, “I suppose I do not mind that he holds the Black family accounts, in that case... especially as there is little I can do about it.”

“How did you know he had become a Slytherin?”

“It was in the _Prophet_ when they reported on the re-sorting.” The elegant woman sucked on the inside of her cheek for a moment, nearly as if she had forgotten Hermione was there at all. “Something about his placement there gives me a kind of solace I cannot explain… unlike Draco’s being re-sorted into Ravenclaw, that is.”

Hermione shook her head, unwilling to agree for the sake of politeness, “It suits him.”

“Of course you would think so,” the other witch sneered. Closing her eyes for a moment, she recalled, “He read too many books as a child. Lucius and I were worried by the time we sent him to school, and relieved when he was sent to Slytherin.”

“He didn’t want to be in Slytherin this year,” Hermione answered. “He wanted something different.”

“I suspected as much. But he is a man of a new era, and he is allowed to have his secrets. He has no interest in tradition… even if I do.”

Hermione flinched as Narcissa produced her wand and waved it - but only a small box appeared from thin air. It was levitated slowly over toward Hermione, who glanced up questioningly at her mother-in-law, only to receive a curt nod that she was to take the offering. Reaching up, she took the box and examined it. It was small and wooden, with simple inlay that looked as if it might be made of mother-of-pearl.

“Open it.”

Inside was a sparkling diamond necklace, along with matching earrings that looked as if they were each over one carat. Privately, she marveled, _I have never had anything this ludicrously expensive in all my life…_

But when she tried to thank Narcissa, what came from Hermione’s mouth instead, was, “I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand?” the older witch queried coolly. “It is tradition.”

“But you _hate_ me… and everyone like me.”

She did not deny it. “And yet, traditions are meant to be upheld, regardless of circumstance. That set once belonged to Draco’s paternal grandmother. I’ve had them cleaned and inspected for curses, but by all means, have them tested again if you like. I know what it’s like not to trust my mother-in-law…”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, paused, then managed to say what she should have the first time, “Thank you.”

“And _if_ you and my son divorce someday, the jewels must be returned.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, “If?”

“ _If_ , indeed,” Narcissa repeated darkly. She stood from the opulent armchair, vanishing it into smoke with another wave of her wand, and began to retreat into a room off to their left. This was indication enough that the conversation was over. At the last moment, she turned to look over her shoulder and say, “You will find Draco in his study. That staircase will take you to the East Wing. Follow the corridor… it is the third room on your right. Mr. Nott is there, as well.”

That certainly piqued Hermione’s curiosity. _Are Draco and Theo finally making up?_

Pocketing the small jewelry box, she followed Narcissa’s directions, all while considering the possibility Theo had told Narcissa that Hermione would be early. A moment later, she had to wonder when she had finally come to terms with the fact that Nott really could tell the future…

Her mistrust of Narcissa made her press her ear to the door she had been directed towards, before knocking, to be sure she could hear voices from inside. As promised, she could hear Theo’s ribald laugh echoing from within.

She knocked. Draco barked, “Enter.”

Turning the knob and pushing the door open, she stopped short in the entryway. The room within was dark and covered in stars, as if from a small projector. In the middle of the celestial holograms stood Theo, who appeared to have been pointing to one. Draco sat with his feet propped up onto his desk, but his eyebrows raised toward his hairline when he saw Hermione. Setting his feet back down onto the floor, he leaned forward.

“Lady Malfoy,” Theo greeted. A hologram star had left a bright spot on his cheek, while another was glinting off his glasses. “Right on time.”

Draco stood from behind his desk and went to her, lowly murmuring, “I didn’t realize you would be early. I’m sorry I wasn’t at the Floo to meet you.”

“It’s alright,” she assured him. “I had a chat with your mother.”

Eyebrows raised even higher, he replied, “That is not something I thought I would ever hear.”

“She gifted me some jewels,” Hermione explained. “Apparently it’s tradition.”

“Ah.” He flicked his wand behind him and the star map disappeared. With another flick of his wand, the curtains were drawn back so that the room was no longer dark.

Draco’s study had dark-paneled walls like much of the rest of Malfoy Manor, and mainly seemed to feature the masculine scents of smoke and whiskey. It was almost unbearably tidy, with every book on every shelf of the same height and bound in the same leather. A large, brass telescope looked out from the window and gave the impression of being affixed in a purposeful direction.

Now that there was light, Hermione realized that Theo was casually holding a faintly smoking cigar in one hand, which accounted for the smell and a vaguely smoky haze to the area which she had not noticed before. Draco, she noted, was not smoking. “I’m surprised to see the two of you together. I thought you weren’t speaking.”

“Not at all,” Draco said with a swift glance in his companion’s direction. “In fact, I know Nott has a few things he would like to say to you, so I’ll leave you to it for a moment or two while I get tea settled with the elves.”

He cast her a meaningful glance as if he was confident this were the right decision, but Hermione thought she could also detect an underlying unsureness about him. Nevertheless, he left the room to give them some privacy; though, Hermione noticed he left the door ajar somewhat… and she also recalled that there was no need for him to fetch one of the elves himself...

Looking shifty, Theo tried a couple different ways of casually standing before he settled on sitting on the edge of Draco’s desk. Even then, he looked somewhat uncomfortable, and was puffing away at his cigar at an accelerated rate that was nearly alarming. Hermione raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, “Should I be anticipating an explanation as to why you suddenly disappeared on me for literal weeks?”

Nott ran a hand through his somewhat-shaggy hair so that it flopped into his eyes, then smoothed it out. “I just wanted to apologize. I was worried - after I told Malfoy what I’d seen about the future… the _alternate_ future…”

“You mean the one where I ended up with you instead of Draco?” she prompted starkly.

“Er, yes.” His gaze was fixated on the cigar in his hands.

“I wish you had come and _talked_ to me about it,” she protested, uncrossing and then crossing her arms again. “Even if Draco had told you to give him some space, I am not an extension of him, even if we are married… and you had no call to avoid me like that. It was nearly a month… I _missed_ you.”

Looking up shyly, he cast her a crooked smile. “I missed you, too, princess.”

She queried hopefully, “No more nonsense?”

Theo smiled, confirming, “No more nonsense. I value you and Draco both too much to ruin a good thing. It’s more than someone like me deserves, to be truthful.”

“Oh, stop that talk,” she shushed, “and tell me what the two of you were doing with that star chart when I came in…”

“Mapping star patterns. I’ve been reading a lot of Ptolemy lately; the man’s star charts in relation to telling the future were unparalleled, and I thought… you know… since my Sight is so changeable…”

“You wanted to try a different method of utilizing it?”

“Exactly. Malfoy’s been helping me, since I’m shit at astronomy...”

Draco returned at that moment, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them, and taking note of their relaxed stances from opposite sides of the room. “Have the two of you made up?”

“Well,” Hermione answered, pretending to think about it, “he definitely still owes me for running off like that… but I suppose I forgive him for now.”

Theo beamed.

“Tea should be ready shortly. We can take it in the solarium instead of the drawing room,” Draco announced.

“I’ll be heading out then,” said Theo, stamping out his cigar in an ashtray on Draco’s desk.

“Aren’t you staying?” Hermione queried.

“Nah… I think this conversation is a better one for just the two of you. But I’ll see you back at Hogwarts.”

He was gone a moment later, after casting a lingering glance back at the two of them. Once he was out of sight, Hermione turned back to Draco. “What did he mean?”

“I have something that came this morning that I wanted to share with you. It’s a bit ahead of time, but I thought we could put it to rest…”

Intrigued, she followed his lead as he put an arm around her and queried, “Do you mind if I side-along us to the solarium?”

She shook her head, and a moment later they had arrived. Bewildered, she looked around, only to discover that the entire room had been transformed for spring. A flowering tree boasting full, white blooms dominated the center of the room, while morning glories climbed down the walls and staircase bannister. Great, yellow flowers spilled out of tall urns around the border of the room, while different blooms of the deepest blue crept out of their planters from the ceiling. Underneath the tree, was the same table they had sat at the last time Hermione had been there, when she had set Lucius’s stack of a marriage document on fire. It was set with all the tea things - but with only two places laid out.

For a moment, she only stood before it, looking and trying to remember what Narcissa had done to prepare the tea the last time.

Draco pulled out a seat and waited for her to take it. As she settled, he said, “My apologies for springing this on you. I know you had no desire to come back here…”

“I was surprised,” she admitted.

“I have something for you.” He sat, and with a wave of his wand, a short stack of parchment settled onto the table from thin air.

“Oh?” Curious as she was about what the parchment might be, she was focused on the tea things, determined to get this right. Flicking her wand, she levitated the teapot over to pour some into Draco’s cup, then her own. Once the china had settled back onto the tabletop, she glanced up, only to find him looking at her with a mixture of fondness and amusement, along with a touch of something else - possibly pride. “What is it?”

His gray-blue eyes crinkled at the corners as a smile slid into place as he observed her. “Nothing - I wanted to tell you that this morning, I informed both of my parents that you and I have decided not to divorce.”

Taken aback by his frankness, she nearly dropped the sugar dish. “Oh? And how did they take that?”

A contumacious smirk of satisfaction spread across his mouth. “They took it well, I think. Considering.”

She glanced now to the paperwork in front of him, which appeared to be some ten pages. “So, what’s all this, then?”

“These,” he lifted them, to let them fall back to the table, “are our new marriage documents - allowing you full rights as Lady Malfoy, and over the family vaults, assets, and secrets. I thought we could go over them together, with just the two of us.”

Collecting herself, she beamed at him and sent the creamer to put just a dash of milk into his tea. “I’m not entirely sure how you just made paperwork sound romantic,” she teased, “but you managed.”

.

.

When the Hogwarts Express pulled up to the station at King’s Cross that Saturday, Hermione’s eyes lingered on the glossy, red paint of the steam engine as if to commit it to memory. She turned to look at Draco, who nodded toward it indulgently, as if he had an idea what was running through her head. Slipping her hand into his, she almost did not notice the stares and whispers of some of the students and their parents at seeing the two of them together. They headed toward the prefect compartment, to await instructions.

“Hermione!” Ginny called over the heads of many.

Hermione craned her neck, spotting her friend.

“We’ve got a compartment at the back when you’re done!” Ginny shouted, uncaring that others were staring. “Bring Malfoy.”

She waved back to assure her that she got the message, then smiled up at Draco a second time. He looked somehow both exasperated and relieved to have been included by her friends. Nodding forward, he encouraged, “Go on… or we’ll be late.”

Steam was beginning to pour from the train’s stacks as a warning whistle sounded. Harried parents were shooing their children onto the train. With a last look behind her at the platform, Hermione stepped into the front car.

They received their instructions for their final term from the Head Boy and Girl before beginning their trek to the back of the train to meet up with Ginny and the others. The city was beginning to thin out as it rushed by around them outside the windows.

Abruptly, Hermione paused by a window, nearly causing Draco to bump into her. When he looked questioningly at her, she said only, “This is our last train ride to school.”

Slowly, he nodded. “I suppose it is.”

“ _Agh_!”

Both their heads swiveled around to the compartment they had stopped in front of, to find that it contained a seething Pansy Parkinson. Daphne, Millicent, and Tracey were all seated on the cushions behind her; Daphne and Tracey were wearing matching horrified expressions at Pansy’s outburst, while Millicent stared pointedly out the window away from the scene.

“ _Still_ with the _Mudblood_ , Draco?” Pansy screeched. Even now, at not quite noon, she appeared somewhat intoxicated; Hermione wondered when the witch had started drinking that morning. The witch’s hair was in disarray and her eyes were bloodshot; Hermione began to feel the stirrings of pity for her.

Instead of responding to Pansy however, Draco only lightly nudged Hermione’s shoulder, “Come on. There appears to be something nasty in this section of the train. We should keep moving.”

Heart lifting at his words, she shifted forward...

“ _Don’t you walk away from me, Draco Malfoy_!”

Heads were beginning to peer out of compartment doors now. Eager to get away from Pansy’s ire, Hermione lowered her head and held onto the wall as the train went around a bend in the tracks, anxious to move as quickly as she could.

“You’re not any more magical just because you’ve gone and sucked pureblood cock, Granger!” the witch screamed. Hermione’s face burned; she did not dare look up, desirous as she was not to cause any more of a scene.

Daphne stepped up next to Pansy in the doorway. “Come on, Pans, get back into the compartment…”

“Get your hands off me, Greengrass!”

Theo materialized a moment later from a nearby compartment, lightly thwacking a few heads with his elbows as he passed, “Listen to her, Parkinson… go on…”

With some effort between them, both Theo and Daphne managed to persuade Pansy back into the compartment she had come out of. Though her screeches could still be heard for a moment after the door slid shut, someone or something effectively silenced her.

In the absence of other sound,  Draco coolly remarked in his superior drawl to the collective onlookers, “Don’t you all have anything better to do with your time?”

They filtered away and Hermione continued making her way back to the end of the train. Theo squeezed out of the girls’ compartment and followed them, “Sorry - Daph and I have been trying to keep Pans quiet…”

“Why did she even come back?” Hermione demanded. She could feel the beginnings of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, all while Pansy’s words echoed in the darkest recesses of her mind. “She should have just stayed home to be miserable where she could content herself with ruining her own life, instead of darkening ours!”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Theo. “I’m not going to make excuses for what she said... but would just like to point out that she is not doing well with her brother’s death at all.”

With that, he turned on his heel and returned back to his compartment.

Both Hermione and Draco were silent a moment at his sudden departure, until Draco nudged her shoulder, and encouraged, “Come on. We don’t want to keep the Weaslette waiting…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only four more chapters to go... thank you so much for all your lovely comments and encouragement. I'd have given up long ago without you. Several large lakes is probably not enough to contain all my gratitude for my tireless and amazing beta (I_was_BOTWP). Thank you.


	67. The Act Of Breathing

With the inhale, came relief. Not quite the same easement that he got from cigarettes, but Draco was not really in a position to complain. This was one of the better substitutes he had come across thus far.

The exhale brought a measure of comfort to his anxious mind, and tasted of the spices he had laced the faux-cigarette with.  _ Cloves. Not bad. _

Draco gazed out the narrow cave passage that led from the dungeon corridor off the castle. The Quidditch pitch loomed in the distance, the goalposts still and waiting, like tall sentinels in the night. This time, unlike many of the other times he had come here, he had not come there to smoke, but rather, because he missed Quidditch.

A scratchy  _ meow _ called his attention toward his ankles and he looked down to find Crookshanks had approached. Upon seeing that Draco had finally noticed him, the cat began quietly purring.

Balancing the cigarette between his lips, Draco bent down to scratch the cat on his head. Crookshanks butted against his hand, encouraging him to get behind his ears.

“You’re a fickle thing,” he muttered, but acquiesced. “Only here so I can give you a scratch, I’m sure.”

Crookshanks blinked contentedly up at him.

In the two weeks it had been since they returned to Hogwarts from their Easter break, Hermione had been going spare. A fierce determination pushed her to prepare not only herself, but everyone she knew, for their NEWTs. The prefects were also busy finalizing plans for the Spring Fling, which would take place in a few more weeks, setting the school abuzz with excitement. Draco would be attending with his wife, of course. It was a good feeling, though it did still make him a touch anxious, out of sheer habit. Another part of him was ready for events he could take Hermione to beyond the walls of the castle, and into the real world, where he could show her off. After all, it was not everyone that won a prize like her.

But that was not what was driving him barmy. It was not even Blaise’s continued pointed remarks about Draco’s forsaken four-poster in the Ravenclaw boys’ dormitory...

It was Quidditch.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Relief, and the scent of cloves billowing into the crisp, night air.

Slytherin had played Gryffindor in the last match – and as expected, they had steamrollered the lions. This meant the final match would be Slytherin versus Ravenclaw, just as expected. Bets had already been placed and a friendly rivalry had sprung up between the snakes and the eagles, seemingly the moment the prior match had ended.

But then –  _ un _ expectedly – sixth-year Gordon Wilson had been injured in Care of Magical Creatures, and just like that, Ravenclaw no longer had a Keeper.

Word got out that Madam Pomfrey had forbidden him from playing in the final match, and suddenly - Quidditch fan or not - the entirety of Ravenclaw Tower was squawking over replacements. After all, there was a lot at stake: the eagles had not held the Cup in over twenty years.

Tryouts were to be held Sunday morning - tomorrow.

Inhale.

_ You could play Keeper. You’ve always been a decent keep. Remember the games you, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle used to play in the yard at the manor?  _ Two-on-two games did not allow for Seekers or Beaters, just Chasers and Keepers.

Exhale. The taste of cloves again.

Draco recalled a memory of his father, reminding him that if a Malfoy were to play Quidditch, there were only two acceptable positions for him to hold on the team. A Seeker was the best position, as it was the most important member of any team, and was relatively supervisory. A Beater might also be appropriate, for the correct personality – but Chaser and Keeper were not acceptable. These were associated with the more hard-working, physical aspects of the game. It was better for a Malfoy not to be associated with such plebeian tasks.

Inhale.

He was stressed out all over again, thinking of his father and his damned opinions.

Exhale.

But… now that Lucius’s influence mattered less than it used to... maybe… just maybe…

Memories of his father took their time in slithering out of his mind, but they were only replaced with images of Lottie Gary with all her Gryffindor impudence. Even though things had mainly settled with regard to students attacking one another in the hallways, and despite that no one had really voiced much of anything to him, Draco was acutely aware of what was said about him behind his back. No one dared speak their thoughts to his face (besides Pansy, who had made a scene only that morning, which consisted of mostly incoherent screeching), but when he was with Hermione especially, he could feel the staring. The murmurs wormed their way under his skin, and the speculations left him feeling as if he were coated in a greasy layer of unworthiness.

He flicked the spent cigarette to the ground. His mouth felt unclean and cottony. He was going to have to mess with the formula for the substitute some more.

Glancing back up toward the tall goalposts, he recalled fifth year, the moment he found out that Weasley had been made Keeper for Gryffindor. While Potter had always been his established rival, to be envious of Ron Weasley for any reason was akin to great shame, even if he had not recognized it as jealousy at the time.

Draco thought back with embarrassment – and perhaps still a small bit of amusement – over his attempts to unsettle Weasley in his new role, especially in the composition of ‘Weasley Is Our King’. It had taken an embarrassingly long time to write the lyrics, but many of the other Slytherins had taken his lead without much cajoling.

Still, jealousy it had been. In a moment of determined realization over how far his father’s influence stretched over him, Draco experienced a moment of stark reality.

Did he want to try out for Ravenclaw Keeper because  _ he wanted to _ … or because he was determined to root Lucius’ influence the rest of the way out of himself?

He thought of the wind in his hair, the sweat on his forehead, the thrill of the game. No, this was definitely something he desired for his own reasons. The rest was simply gravy.

Vanishing the faux-cigarette butts he had accumulated, and filled with a new sense of purpose, he stored his wand in his sleeve and knew he would be at the try-outs the next morning. Whispers and others’ opinions be damned.

_ Only a few more hours… then you’ll know, one way or the other. _

.

.

The following day, Hermione had insisted they spend more time in the library preparing for NEWTs. Despite Draco’s own studious nature,  _ she _ brought reviewing to an entirely new level, starting even before lunch on a Sunday, when he would generally rather be relaxing. That, coupled with how his body seemed to be vibrating with eager excitement, meant he could not concentrate on a single word in front of him.

He glanced up at her and watched as her eyes scanned the page, back and forth, absorbing the words. She read alarmingly fast, almost in paragraphs rather than in words. Intent on breaking her concentration in order to impart his news, he sneaked his foot closer toward hers under the table and touched her with it.

Her eyes flickered up to him, both in incredulity and slight suspiciousness. “Draco, are you playing footsie with me?”

He paused, unfamiliar with the term. “Am I doing what?”

A smile broadening over her face, she only shook her head. A dimple appeared, just one on her right cheek; Draco wondered if she even knew it was there. Barely a second later, her focus was fixed back onto her notes.

“I have something to tell you.”

She looked up again, her finger paused on the page in front of her, holding her place.

“This year, I had planned to try-out for the Slytherin Quidditch team to try getting my place as Seeker back,” he explained, though he suspected she already knew that. “Then, with the re-sorting, I opted not to bother because I knew my reputation with the other houses was unlikely to recommend me to be a part of any team.”

Hermione began to tut at this notion.

“No, it’s true,” he interrupted her seriously. “But what I wanted to tell you, is that I decided to try out for the position of Ravenclaw Keeper.”

Her mouth rounded into a perfect O before she leaned in to reply, “I’m so glad. Ravenclaw is your new house, after all.”

He chuckled darkly before answering, “If you had heard what your friend Sue Li said to me when I announced I’d be trying out, you would see that those fears were completely founded…”

“She isn’t my friend; we still aren’t speaking!” she exclaimed hotly. Then, recalling that they were in the library and lowing her volume, she repeated, “When are tryouts?”

“They were this morning.”

“Oh! And…?”

He sucked in a breath. “I made the team.”

Her hand left the part of her notes she was keeping track of to fondly squeeze his forearm. “Oh, Draco, that’s  _ wonderful _ !”

Affecting nonchalance as best he could, he answered, “Yeah, well, the game is in a little over a week… that’s barely enough time for me to fit in practice… I probably won’t be any good...”

“You’ll be brilliant,” she told him, eyes sparkling.

When she said it with so much conviction, Draco felt he could nearly believe it.

**.**

**.**

The next morning, Draco awoke and sat up in bed. A feminine form was ensconced in the sheets beside him, brunette curls tumbled this way and that. Hermione’s bare legs were poking out from under the covers and after a minute’s observation, he trailed his fingers along them; like the rest of her, her legs were smooth and golden-tan, at least compared to his own paleness.

Experimentally, his bold hand roamed up her thigh and though she stirred, she remained mostly asleep. Finally, he tried kissing her neck. She responded so naturally to his touch that it lit a flame within him. Tilting her head somewhat, her body did the rest, encouraging him before she had even opened her eyes. He peppered kisses down to the swell of her breasts and her back arched and her eyes fluttered.

“Good morning,” she mumbled, brushing both curls and sleep from her eyes.

“Good morning,” he echoed back, watching her awareness slowly blink into place.

The previous evening, Hermione had kept him at the library until it closed, determined as she was to get in every bit of studying she could. He had borne it - but had drawn the line when she began unpacking her bookbag back at their suite to continue reviewing her notes there. A few well-placed kisses and insistent touches had led to him burying himself into her right over the side of the armchair in their main living area, successfully distracting even her.

Afterward, they had continued in the bedroom, with him pounding into her, eking out just  _ one more _ orgasm before allowing himself to finish. The way her body took him in felt amazing beyond what he had ever imagined. She was warm, tight and welcome – and almost  _ too much _ sensation. Someday, that would be how his heirs were created - with  _ her _ . He would be damned if he ever allowed a divorce.

He thought so again this morning, as the witch in question snuggled into his side to steal a bit more of his warmth, peeking up at him with those ocher eyes.

Glancing at the clock, he sighed. “We’ve got class in an hour.”

“Just a bit longer? It’s cold out there… and you’re so warm.” Hermione’s lower lip pouted outward just a small bit, and Draco felt his heart was very full.

He smiled indulgently, settling back into place. “Five minutes, then.”

.

.

Time did not pass, so much as sped away from him. In fact, there were huge chunks of days that Draco simply did not recall occurring, jam-packed as his schedule was. Between Hermione’s manic study habits, the load of schoolwork their professors seemed intent on burying them in, and finally, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, Damien Shafiq, running him through drills every spare moment… Draco was not even having a difficult time sleeping, exhausted as he was.

All the same, four days out from the big match found him down at the Quidditch Pitch after hours. He had snuck out of the castle with his broomstick to fly some drills on his own, away from Shafiq and his critiques. Draco charmed the quaffle to fly at him from different angles, not willing to rest until he had blocked at least fifty in a row.

He would not be exposed to ridicule, if he could help it.

For the first pass, he made it only to twenty-four saves before the quaffle slipped off his fingertips. His Seeker’s gloves were all he owned, and he had too much pride to borrow a pair from someone. If he had thought ahead, perhaps he could have ordered some from Quality Quidditch Supplies, but there was no longer enough time. He cast a warming charm on his hands, and started again.

He made it to thirty-nine that time, before missing.

_ Idiot _ , his brain hissed at him.  _ You set yourself up for this - now prove you can do it! _

When he reached forty-one saves on his third attempt at fifty, his eyes caught sight of a solitary figure racing across the pitch below. Even despite having worn his glasses in order to be able to see the quaffle at all, he still had to squint to try making out who it might be.

It was Theo… and Theo did not run. Ever.

_ Something’s wrong. Something’s happened... _

Quickly, he cancelled the spell on the quaffle and turned his broom to hurtle towards Nott, hopping off and taking his first few steps at a skip to slow himself down.

Theo stopped in front of him, clutching at a stitch in his side. He was white as a sheet, and his energy was off, somber… which only made Draco panic.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, not bothering with formalities.

Doubled-over and with a hand on his thigh as he caught his breath, Theo raised his eyes to meet Draco’s gaze. He blinked once. “It’s Pansy.”

_ It’s not Hermione, not Hermione, not Hermione _ , went like a mantra through Draco’s mind. Relaxing, he felt a sneer slowly curling onto his lips of its own volition. “What? Has she drunk herself into another mess?”

“She’s dead.”

The world stopped. Draco stared hard at Nott. “What the fuck do you mean,  _ she’s dead _ ?”

Looking forlorn, Theo’s eyes were wide, imploring him to… something. Draco could not be sure what. “I don’t know what to do. I need you to help me with her.”

_ She’s not dead… she can’t be. _

Draco was barely cognizant of agreeing to follow Theo, or of the time it took the both of them to make their way from the Quidditch Pitch, through the lower corridors, past the dungeons, and into the caves. He had nearly forgotten he was carrying his broomstick, until the end of it scraped the ceiling of the dark and dreary tunnel. Impatiently, he leaned it against the wall and immediately forgot about it. Casting a  _ lumos _ , he followed Theo down the earthen passage.

“She’s here?” he queried. His heart was nearly in his mouth.

But Theo had come to a stop. He swallowed several times before answering, “Just there.”

Draco peered around his friend - and saw her.

Pansy’s body sat slumped against the wall, with her head rolled forward and her dark hair obscuring her face. In one hand, she clutched a mostly-empty, unlabeled bottle; in the other, she grasped a folded sheaf of parchment.

Slowly, Draco went toward her. He had seen plenty of dead bodies during the war - some of them people he had known while alive - but few had meant anything to him. Setting his hand down on her shoulder, he quietly murmured, “Parkinson?”

There was no answer.

He gently nudged her, as if to wake her from her stupor. “Pansy?”

The body only slumped further down, heavy with quiescence.

“She’s not going to wake.”

Draco turned back around to glare at Theo, but softened when he realized that Nott was silently crying, tears rolling down his cheeks unchecked. He requested, “Help me prop her up.”

As the two wizards worked together to sit the dead witch up into a more dignified position, Draco’s thoughts were over a decade away. For the moment, he was six years old again, and Pansy was visiting the manor with her mother.

_ “Draco,” Narcissa called from the drawing room, seeing him outside the doorway peering in. “Come greet our guests. Do you remember Mrs. Parkinson?” _

_ His six-year-old self nodded, shuffling in; his eyes were rooted to the little girl clinging to the woman’s hand. He so rarely saw other children, and had never really met a girl before. She was wearing a dress that seemed to be constructed entirely of frills and had purple ribbons in her hair. _

_ “This is my daughter, Pansy,” Mrs. Parkinson introduced. “She’s your age.” _

_ “Pleased to meet you,” said Pansy, with perfect manners. _

_ Despite having been groomed for this situation, he was still shy when he answered, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Parkinson.” _

_ She smiled at him. _

The truth was, while Draco might not care for, or respect her any longer, Pansy was someone he had known for most of his life. They had grown up together, shared their first kiss together, and other important milestones too numerous to name. As children, they had played together, experimented with their childhood magic together, and later, thought to pursue something more…

Now, her empty body, devoid of a soul, was propped up in front of him. It looked unnatural in its inanimate state.

“I had no idea her drinking was this bad,” he murmured.

Slowly, Theo shook his head. “This wasn’t because of liquor.”

Draco turned to him, questions burning in the forefront of his mind.

“She’s got a note, Malfoy,” the other wizard pointed out. “This wasn’t an accident.”

His gaze swiveled to the parchment in Pansy’s right hand. Bending down, it was not difficult to extract from her hand, as rigor mortis had not yet set in and her fingers were moveable. Unfolding the parchment, the sight of her curly script knocked the wind directly from his lungs.

_ If you’ve found my body and I’m not in it, then I’ve finally got what I’ve always wanted. I don’t care what you do with it. _

_ I was sad even before the Dark Lord, even if I didn’t really talk about it. Maybe I shed a tear or two here and there, but after an hour or so of moping, I’d be over it. It got worse during the war, but I thought I only had to endure until it was over… and even then, there was a kind of comfort in the darkness. Darkness had become the only thing that never left, no matter what.  _

_ Since we lost, everything has been devastation… I seclude myself for hours at a time, drinking to numb the pain of reality, of the confusion of my existence. I sleep only through drinking, potions, or tears. The process of being broken is incredibly exhausting… I can’t connect with anyone, or anything, anymore. _

_ The world has drained me for everything I once had… or thought I had. _

_ With Lucien’s passing, was hopelessness. I curled into a ball on the shower floor, covered in sweat and tears, and wished for death. Everyone always wants to know why I was sent to fucking Hufflepuff… and it’s because of my family, my loyalty to them… but now, what’s left? Loyalty only to dead men and the ebbing promises of something better than this? I don’t even know who those people who were once my family ARE anymore. _

_ In my waking hours, my ears ring and my vision blurs. Everything tastes and smells like rubber. I can’t cry anymore, or feel. _

_ And then, today, I disappeared entirely. _

_ There is nothing left for me. _

Draco let the note fall to the ground, and stared into the space the parchment had once occupied.  _ Nothing left… nothing left… _

“This is poison,” observed Theo. Draco turned to find Nott was inspecting the bottle Pansy had had in her hand. “I mean, it’s wine… but it’s laced.”

Blinking quickly a couple times, it was a moment before Draco realized that he, too, had shed a couple tears. He brushed them away, his mouth hardening into a thin line. Only then, did he realize he did not know what to say, or do. He had never had to take care of a dead body before.

“ _ Salazar _ ,” Theo cursed, setting the bottle down gently and reaching for the parchment, only to look away at the very first sentence. “It’s just… how could she do this?”

Draco unstuck his jaw and managed to eke out, “You saw the note. There was nothing left for her.”

“Stones, Malfoy, how can you even say that?”

“Her words, not mine.” He looked over at Theo, expectant of something, though even he could not say what.

“I’ve just… _we’ve_ _both_ known her all our lives. You know as well as I do that she had the blood prejudice instilled in her worse than most of us. How could she recover from the aftermath of… of war… of… _everything_?” He slammed his fist into the dirt wall before gently bringing his head to rest against it next. “What, are we supposed to all just pretend none of it happened? You and me… our fathers were arseholes… and that fucking _helped_. Because we could believe that they were _wrong_. Wrong about blood prejudice… about all of it. Then her brother… and she never got any fucking _closure…_ ”

Eyes narrowing, Draco hissed, “How did you not See this coming? Prevented it?”

“I did See it coming.”

“And you  _ let it happen _ ?” he demanded incredulously.

“Look, Malfoy, I can’t  _ fix everything _ ! I can’t even fix  _ my-fucking-self _ !”

A grim silence reigned supreme in the caves for a moment. Draco’s eyes were rooted on Pansy’s body, but his hands were clenched into fists and his whole body was shaking with the unfairness of it all, and anger at Nott.

Theo collected himself a moment before continuing, “I didn’t know what to do... and it was a big part of why I was avoiding you, to be honest.”

“Because you saw Parkinson  _ killing herself _ and you didn’t want to  _ help her _ ?” Draco scathingly arrogated.

“Yes!”

A beat of silence. Then, “What the fuck is  _ wrong with you, _ Nott!”

“ _ There was nothing I could do _ !”

“Like hell…”

“What I orchestrated with you and Hermione - with the both of you being together, instead of me with her - somehow cemented her suicide into place. I didn’t mean for it to happen!”

Seething with rage, Draco was ready to throttle Nott as he spit out, “ _ Don’t _ blame  _ this _ on the one thing that makes me happy.”

“I’m  _ not _ , Malfoy. I’m not… it was a butterfly effect, and likely to happen anyway.”

Turning away from his companion with a roar of frustration, Draco slammed a fist into the dirt wall, himself. He hit it so hard that it split his skin, but he could not be bothered with such trifles for the moment. Taking several minutes to collect himself, when he finally turned back to face Theo, he quietly asked, “Was this why you disappeared after our confrontation?”

Slowly, Theo nodded. “I was already mourning her. Trust me when I say, I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to meddling with the future…”

“Let’s hope to Merlin you have,” Draco muttered.

“Greengrass, Bulstrode, and Davis are going to be devastated.”

Closing his eyes for a moment to collect his own emotions, Draco took charge. “Well, one thing is for sure, she can’t stay here. Come on… we’ve got to go fetch Pomfrey to take care of her.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... just wanted to say how much I love everyone for their comments on the last chapter and all... but meantime, I'm just going to go hide over here. I'd be interested in hearing what you thought of this installment.
> 
> An entire parade with a thousand floats and displays would not be enough to express my gratitude to my beta, I_was_BOTWP. Despite her initial shock when I told her I had to kill Pansy, she's been the best support when it came to helping me murder her. (Lord, that sounds messed up). Er, much love, etc.


	68. What Goes Up

****The death of Pansy Parkinson rippled through Hogwarts like a shockwave. Those who had known her well from before the re-sorting, were beside themselves - while a few caustic others were indifferent. Some of the younger students, mostly those who had been victims of her curses during the war, seemed viciously appeased.

Her parents had sent someone to collect her body during the night, almost immediately after being notified of her death.

“They were worried someone with a grudge might do something horrible to her,” Daphne explained. Her hair was lank and her eyes were puffy from crying; Hermione had rarely seen her look such a mess.

“That’s a legitimate concern, though,” piped up Millicent Bulstrode. The homely looking witch appeared much the same as she always did, though occasionally she clenched her jaw as if she wished nothing more than to deck someone in the face.

“Surely no one would _really_ do something like that?” Hermione queried, frowning. “To a _body_?”

Millicent looked nonplussed by the question, while Daphne chose to continue staring at her feet.

Tracey Davis, the fourth member of their circle, sucked on the end of the joint pinched between her fingers and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in her lungs for a couple of seconds before expelling it into the sky. For a moment, the nebulus obscured her face, making her appear mysterious against the night sky, twinkling with stars. When the smoke fanned out into the darkness, it was clear her eyes were fixed on Hermione, and she remarked, “For someone who fought in the war, Hermione, you’re awfully _pure_.”

“I heard that McGonagall offered to hold a memorial service,” Millicent put in, accepting the joint from Tracey and taking her own hit. “But that the Parkinsons forbade it.”

“They’re going to bury her alongside Lucien,” Daphne croaked out. Hermione looked hard at her friend, trying to decide if she were crying or not.

“Fitting,” Tracey remarked. Then, after a beat, “What do you think they will do, now that both their children are dead?”

“Rot away, most likely,” Millicent grunted. “Their line is ended.”

Taken aback at this bluntness, Hermione was speechless.

“Hit?”

Hermione stared at the offered joint and shook her head. “No, thank you.” Memories of her night in Paris flooded into the forefront of her mind. She amended, “Actually, why not?”

She was cognizant, not only of being the outsider amongst the three girls who had belonged to Pansy’s former clique, but also of the fact that all three sets of eyes were on her as she took a shallow drag. She immediately began to cough, so she handed the joint off to Daphne, waving the smoke in front of her face away.

“Careful, Granger,” Millicent snickered.

Daphne corrected, “She’s Malfoy.”

“Right, right - I still can’t wrap my head around that one.”

Hermione frowned, “Meaning?”

“Just, you - and Draco,” Millicent answered.

Tracey put in, “Not to mention having _you_ as the fourth in the circle instead of Pansy.”

“Be nice,” Daphne growled in warning.

“I am,” Tracey insisted. She was leaning casually against the railing of the hidden balcony off the base of Ravenclaw Tower, where Daphne had suggested they meet. Hermione was sure she had only been invited along as a token gesture, but Daphne had insisted she come. “But you can’t pretend that we haven’t formed this circle countless times over the years, with Pansy, and talked shite about Granger. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“I miss Pansy,” Daphne said quietly. She was staring at the floor, while the smoke from the joint in her hand curled upward into nothingness.

“Me, too,” Tracey agreed softly, plucking the forgotten joint from Daphne’s fingers.

Millicent grunted in agreement.

Hermione felt distinctly like an interloper. After all, she could not say with any conviction, that she was sorry for the death of Pansy. It was sad, truly, that the witch had thought that the only way out of her deep depression was suicide - but while Hermione felt the truth of that, she also felt nothing. Pansy Parkinson had been no friend of hers. “I should go.”

“Stay,” Daphne requested pleadingly.

Raising her eyes to the other two girls in the circle, she found them both watching her. Neither offered an opinion on if they would rather she stay or not.

After a moment’s uncomfortable squirming in the face of the other girls’ open grief, which she could not share, she settled again, and said, “I just think that maybe the three of you would rather talk about your memories of her together. I don’t want to intrude… and I have nothing to add.”

“ _Au contraire_ , Missus Malfoy,” Millicent contradicted with a smile that was rather more feral than inviting.

With a haughty flip of her strawberry-blonde hair, Tracey agreed, “Your indifference is helpful in tempering our feelings. It’s a good reminder that while we may have lost a friend three nights ago, she was not a flawless individual. She would not want to be remembered as such. Pansy had her demons - and we will honor them.”

Sitting back, Hermione looked at the three witches before her. She still did not feel necessarily welcome amongst them, but there _was_ a level of acceptance she could palpably feel.

“Do you think we could have done anything?” Daphne croaked out. “You know… for Pansy?”

“Salazar, Daph, don’t start that shite,” Tracey moaned, wrinkling her nose. “My mascara is perfect; if you ruin it, I’ll hex you.”

“I noticed her drinking last year… what with the Carrows running this place, and all,” Millicent put in. “But I don’t reckon I realized it was an actual problem until a few months ago…”

“And she was always so _dramatic_ ,” Tracey added, toying with the ends of her hair. Even to Hermione’s ears, it sounded like the girl was trying to make excuses to herself. “By the time she spiralled out of control, it was almost hard to even notice.”

“I came upon her a few times during prefect patrols when she’d been drinking,” Hermione spoke up, feeling lightheaded and ready to talk. “It didn’t seem like she wanted people to know.”

“Of course she didn’t,” muttered Daphne. “But we were her closest friends… it should have been us, there for her.”

“We _were_ ,” Tracey reminded her friend irritably. “You know Pansy didn’t want to talk to any of us, toward the end.”

 _Toward the end…_ The words sat there in the center of the circle, affecting them all - even Hermione, who had barely known Parkinson. Daphne sniffled as Tracey fidgeted and Hermione tried to act as if she were invisible; Millicent harrumphed.

Finally, Tracey snapped, “Are you going to keep puffing away at that thing, Millie, or are you going to share?”

.

.

The next handful of days passed alarmingly fast; Hermione was unsure how she had managed to fit in all her classes, studying for NEWTs, prefect duties, _and_ trying to track down Theo, who appeared to have gone back into hiding since Pansy’s death. When he did make an appearance - in a scant few classes, or for a random meal - he and Draco appeared to be acting rather chilly toward one another again, though she could not figure out why. She could only deduce that something about Parkinson’s death had driven a wedge between them… and as Draco would not speak of it, and Theo seemed to be pointedly avoiding her, she realized that it was just the way of things for the time being.

In fact, Draco had been conspicuously silent on the matter. Nearly all his time that was not already being spent on schoolwork and sleeping, was dedicated to practicing for Quidditch. Hermione suspected the distraction was probably good for him… because while he had barely mentioned Pansy’s suicide at all, she knew that he must be feeling _something_.

He arrived back to their suite nearly every evening covered in mud and sweat. After a swift kiss on her forehead, he would head to the showers, and then to their bed. On one occasion, she ventured to ask him how practice had been going, but he had only scrubbed at his tired face with his hands and answered, “Muddy. It’s been a rainy spring.”

Hoping that meant it was going well, and that he was merely being cautious about his optimism, she did not press him for further details. It did not stop her fretting, however.

The Ravenclaw v. Slytherin match was all either Harry or Ginny seemed to be able to talk about. Ron, who had eventually recovered from Hufflepuff’s defeat, seemed unable to pick which side he wanted to win.

The morning of the match, Hermione awoke to find herself alone in their suite. It was not unusual for Draco to be up and about earlier than her, but it was the first time he had left without waiting for her to wake. Once upon a time, she might have worried that she had done something to provoke his displeasure; now, she was merely worried about him, hoping he had not holed himself up somewhere to chain-smoke and obsess. There certainly were a multitude of stressors in his life of late.

She made her way to the Great Hall alone, hoping she might find him there - to no avail. Draco was absent from breakfast, and she was relegated to hoping he had at least eaten something earlier. Scanning the hall a second time, she discovered Harry and Ginny cocooned in a tight-knit group consisting of the Slytherin Quidditch team, plus some admirers.

Her eyes searched for Ron next, but found that he was sitting beside Daphne. She did a double-take; the two were engaged in a low, whispered conversation that did not look at all like something she wanted to intrude on.

Resigning herself to the fact that her best friends were all preoccupied, her attention was snagged by a waving arm over at the Ravenclaw table. The arm was attached to Lisa, who was sitting at one of the long benches with Padma. Both girls caught her eye and Padma made a gesture for her to come sit with them.

She might not have done it if Sue had been present; she had never resolved their argument, months ago now, with her former-roommate. Nevertheless, she approached the Ravenclaw table, sitting herself down beside Lisa and across from Padma.

“Hey, Hermione,” Lisa greeted breathlessly, looking positively relieved she had actually come over to join them.

“It’s been awhile,” Padma added, her dark eyes flickering to Hermione’s ring finger as if to confirm the presence of her wedding band. “We haven’t seen you.”

“Well,” she faltered, eyes glancing down to the empty plate in front of her, “Sue made it pretty clear she didn’t want me around... or Daphne either.”

“Sue is full of hippogriff dung sometimes,” Lisa stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione stared; she did not think she had ever heard the former-Hufflepuff say anything so rude before.

Padma nodded, agreeing, “Yes, Daphne is a darling… and we miss you, too.”

“So we thought maybe you would want to come up to the dormitory before the match tonight?” Lisa suggested quickly. It was almost as if she and Padma had rehearsed this conversation beforehand, Hermione thought. “I’m doing all our hair again, with Ravenclaw ribbons of course.”

Frowning, she queried, “What about Daphne? Sue?”

Padma stared, “You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Sue apologized.”

Shocked, Hermione repeated, “I thought you said she was full of hippogriff dung?”

Lisa grinned, “Yeah, well, she is sometimes.”

Padma stifled a giggle, her eyes flickering over toward the group containing six of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team members. Then, she observed, “They still haven’t announced who they’ve gotten to Keep for them… but it’s not really a secret.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “I think they’re trying to keep him a secret. His reputation, and all…”

Lisa opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by a look from Padma. _Since when did these two get close enough to read one another that way?_

“Yes, maybe,” Padma only answered vaguely. Then, bringing the conversation back to their proposed evening plans, she continued, “So, Sue and Daphne are… well, not really _friends_ , but they get on alright enough.”

“Besides, it became pretty clear that Blaise Zabini wasn’t interested in either of them when he started chasing that seventh year girl…” Lisa added.

A smile slowly cracked across Hermione’s face. “It seems I’ve missed so much now that I’m not rooming with you girls.”

“ _Please_ say you’ll come tonight,” Lisa implored. “I’ll let you pick how you want me to do your hair and everything.”

If the woebegone note in her voice had not been enough, the plaintive expression on Lisa’s face would have swayed her. Hermione cracked a smile and agreed, “Alright. Before dinner, like last time, right?”

At once, her friend’s disconsolate visage cleared into her usual cheeriness. It was so abrupt, Hermione nearly felt as if she had got whiplash. The girl chirped, “Exactly.”

The owl post arrived just then, successfully distracting them all. Both Padma and Lisa received letters from home to be absorbed by, while an unfamiliar barred owl landed with a soft _thwump_ on the table in front of Hermione. A small package wrapped in brown paper was tied to its leg.

Her heart leapt and she excitedly disentangled the twine from around the delivery bird’s leg. The invoice it carried confirmed that inside was exactly what she had ordered only two days ago after a fit of realization had seized her – and it was just in time. A smile lit her face and she tucked the package away into her bookbag, happily selecting a muffin for her breakfast.

.

.

Though Draco was bodily present in Alchemy that morning when Hermione arrived to class, he seemed distracted. She set her things down on the other half of the table he was at, shaking him from the faraway expression on his face. Before she had even taken her seat beside him, he was already apologizing for having left before she woke that morning.

“It’s alright,” she reassured him, hoping to bolster him with a confident smile. “I just hope you weren’t up all night worrying over the match.”

His silence told her all she needed to know.

As class started and Draco began meticulously taking notes as usual, a glance at Theo’s empty seat made her begin to wonder if perhaps she had not been spending all her spare time worrying about the wellbeing of the wrong wizard.

.

.

“You’re next, Hermione.”

Padma stood from her seated position in front of Lisa on the girl’s bed and examined herself in a tall mirror she had conjured earlier. “You’re brilliant, Lisa.”

As Hermione sat in the designated area, she had to agree with Padma; Lisa’s skills with hair were unparalleled. She glanced around at the other three girls and had to admit the young witch had outdone herself this time. Daphne’s light-brown locks had been twisted into a double-fishtail braid that had shining bronze and deep blue ribbons twined without. Sue’s sleek, black hair had been charmed to cooperate, then fiddled expertly into two French braids done close to her head, until they culminated in a ponytail at the back. As she would be playing in the game, she had opted not to go with ribbons at all, but had agreed to let Lisa use them to create her pony-holder, which was charmed in place to hold her hair together as she flew. Padma’s long tresses were done in a more simple waterfall braid, and her ribbons were fastened throughout so that when she moved, the bronze glinted from her hair.

“What sort of updo would you like?” Lisa queried.

Not really knowing much about hair, Hermione shrugged and sat on the bed in front of Lisa, facing the room, “Whatever you’re up for, I suppose.”

“You’ll have to make it something spectacular,” Sue told her. She was rummaging through her trunk for her kneepads and arm guards, along with her Quidditch robes. “Whether we win or lose, we want her wizard’s jaw to go slack when he sees her.”

The tension in the room escalated from minimal to high at the drop of a hat, and was tinged with a very palpable sense of curiosity. Though Sue had apologized to Hermione for her outburst the moment she had arrived, it had felt very official, and possibly a bit like Padma had made her do it. It was the first time any of them had mentioned Draco at all - and none of them had yet actually uttered his name.

Calmly, and to diffuse the tension somewhat, Hermione only replied, “I expect Draco will be happy to see me either way.”

Daphne smiled. She was still looking somewhat bedraggled from the recent loss of one of her oldest friends, but managed to find the energy to gush, “Can I just say again, that I _love_ the two of you together? You’re adorable.”

“What is it like sharing a dormitory with him?” Lisa asked quietly. Hermione could feel the girl’s uncertainty emanating from behind her, even as her deft hands were occupied with pulling her hair this way and that.

Figuring she might as well go straight for the thing the girls were all _really_ wondering, she answered, “Well, it’s less about sharing a dormitory, and more getting used to being married to one another.”

“Why _did_ you marry him?” Sue asked bluntly, dumping a stack of her flying equipment onto her bed to sort it.

“ _Sue_ ,” Padma warned, making Hermione think her earlier assessment had been correct, and that Padma had spoken to Sue at length before inviting her over.

“It’s okay,” Hermione assured them, “I’m sure it all seemed very sudden. The truth is, Draco and I have been seeing one another in secret for most of this year. We were studying alchemical bindings together in first term and opted to try out one of our theories… which went a bit unexpectedly, and we ended up binding ourselves to one another.”

This caused Padma to stare. “ _Woah_.”

“But didn’t you hear McGonagall at the beginning of the year?” Sue pressed; of the four of Hermione’s former-roommates, she was the only other one taking Alchemy. “She warned us not to try any experimenting on our own…”

Hermione unabashedly shrugged, “I guess it was my inner-Gryffindor exerting its recklessness.”

“Or your inner Ravenclaw deciding it just couldn’t wait to discover something new,” Padma countered, looking somewhat amused now. “So, you and… he… got bound together. Then what?”

Lisa continued sectioning off strands of hair, quietly listening, while Hermione sat in front of her, summing up the events of the previous few months, including her marriage to Draco.

“Are you saying you and he… have been married since _December_?” Lisa gasped once Hermione revealed that particular bit of information.

She laughed, “Yes. We weren’t ready to make it public until now though.”

“What changed?” Daphne wanted to know. She was on her stomach on her bed, absentmindedly twirling the end of her braid as she listened.

Hermione could feel her cheeks growing hot at the question. It did not matter that they’d had sex most nights since their consummation, she still got warm when she thought of the way Draco felt inside of her.

“ _Oooh_ ,” Daphne crowed knowingly.

Recovering quickly, Hermione insisted, “We knew our feelings for one another weren’t going away. We opted not to divorce.”

“So you still have the… the…” Padma was for once, at a loss for words. She gestured to her inner forearm.

“The Dark Mark?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, I still have it,” she said brusquely. “Truth be told, it’s the only part of this ordeal I’m still uneasy about.”

Padma shook her head, looking impressed. “You’re an incredible person, Hermione. I’m glad to be your friend.”

“As am I,” Daphne quickly seconded.

“And me,” Sue added, “despite our past disagreements.”

“Agreed,” said Lisa. Her hands stilled. “And your hair is finished.”

Heart feeling very full surrounded by her friends - even if those relationships were not perfect - Hermione went to the mirror to survey Lisa’s handiwork. Her curls remained boisterously wild, tumbling down her back, but Lisa had managed to make a crown braid with the top half of her hair and a plethora of ribbons, which contained some of the volume. She felt perfectly lovely, but for the first time in ages, also very much like herself.

“We should head down for dinner,” Lisa decided, as if she had not just worked miracles with her fingers. “We don’t want to be late.”

“What about _your_ hair?” Sue queried.

“Oh,” Lisa remembered. Reaching for her wand, she incanted a spell, and her short bob magically wound itself up into a pretty little updo, complete with ribbons. “Well, that’s done then.”

The other four girls stared at her a moment, incredulous. Hermione broke the silence, “Have you been able to do that the whole time?”

“Oh – yes.”

“Why have you been doing all ours by hand then?” Sue cried, her eyes wide.

Lisa shrugged, “I like working with hair… and it’s nice to be able to have some skills that don’t require magic, you know?”

Padma was smiling widely by now, “You’re something else, Lisa Turpin.”

Grinning, she repeated, “Let’s head down to supper. I’m starving.”

The five of them went, side-by-side. Sue joined her Quidditch team once they reached the Great Hall; Hermione noticed Draco was sitting with the others, and that his new teammates were even cautiously including him in their conversation. Pleased to see it, Hermione opted to leave him on his own, while she and the three other remaining Ravenclaw girls sat together, speculating over which book they would be choosing to leave behind in the Stacks at the end of the year, as was tradition.

Soon enough, dinner was over and both the Slytherin and Ravenclaw teams were rising to head down to the locker rooms. Applause erupted as they went. Hermione reached into her robes pocket, remembering the little package she had received at breakfast and not wanting Draco to get too far before she could give it to him.

“I’ll be right back,” she told her friends, standing from the table to follow the Ravenclaw team.

The blue-robed individuals were already halfway down the hall when she managed to extract herself from the crowd.

“Draco, wait!” she called, running after him.

Turning slowly, he hung back from the rest of the team when he saw Hermione rushing toward him.

Once she caught up, she stopped before him and pressed herself up onto the balls of her feet to kiss him. When they broke apart, she looked him up and down before murmuring appreciatively, “Ravenclaw colors really _do_ look good on you.”

He smiled crookedly. “Surely you didn’t chase me down the hall just to check me out?”

Swatting his arm, she insisted, “Of course not. I have something for you.”

Reaching into her robes pocket, she pulled out the little brown paper-wrapped package and thrust it into his hands.

Looking up at her curiously, he queried, “What is it?”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, “And the Sorting Hat put you in the _smart_ house? You need to _open_ it.”

Chuckling a bit at her cheek, he tore away the outer layer of paper and immediately stilled. Blinking twice as if he could not register what it was he was holding in his hands, he removed a pair of gloves from the packaging. “You bought me Quidditch gloves?”

“I hope they’re okay,” she immediately worried. “I remembered what you told me about Keepers’ gloves needing to be thicker than the ones Seekers wore, and I thought… since you only just made the team… maybe you didn’t have any that were, you know, the right kind.”

Draco’s eyes snapped up to her face, surprising her when she found a tumult of emotion in them. Sweeping her into his arms, she expected a fervent snog and was surprised when he simply held her there, his cheek resting on the top of her head. A moment later, he was murmuring into her curls, “Is it possible you’re the perfect witch?”

Her heart leapt and she brightened, “You like them, then? I was so worried about which brand to get…”

Releasing her somewhat, his hands slid down her arms to grasp both of hers and when he looked back up at her, he spoke slowly as if being very careful to pick out the correct words, “I don’t give a fig about the brand. The fact that _you_ bought them for me…”

“Malfoy!” a voice called from down the hall. The Ravenclaw Captain, Damien Shafiq, was waiting there expectantly, broomstick in his grasp and his other hand on his hip.

Draco glanced back at his team’s Captain, then to Hermione, “I have to go.”

She nodded, “Good luck.”

Pulling her gently forward, he kissed her quickly, then let go and began to slid his new gloves onto his hands. “I will have luck now.”

She was somewhat glad when he spun on his heel to hasten to join his teammates, because Hermione was quite sure her eyes were shining suspiciously.

.

.

For much of the first hour of the match, the score was neck-and-neck. Never before had Hermione been so conflicted about who she wanted to win. Every time Ginny scored a goal, she had to suppress a cheer (she was wearing Ravenclaw colors, after all), while she simultaneously prayed that Draco’s ego was not taking too much of a beating.

Though she only knew some of the game, she could feel the excitement coursing through the stadium - it was intoxicating. The match was an edge-of-your-seat affair, between two exceptional teams… and she felt a swell of pride every time Draco blocked the Quaffle and the Ravenclaws all cheered him.

Finally, nearly two hours later, the Slytherin Keeper began to grow wearied.

Students were clamoring through the stands, exclaiming over a spectacular dive Harry had made, or else voicing which team they had placed their bets on beforehand. Meanwhile, piping hot cocoa in paper cups were making their way around; Lisa went to fetch four of them for herself and her three friends.

“Go Sue!” she loyally called as their fifth dorm-mate whizzed past with the Quaffle and scored. Padma whistled; Hermione blew on her hot chocolate, eyes on Draco, who was vigilantly circling the opposite goalposts.

The cocoa was long gone by the time the Ravenclaw stands broke out into excited shouting; the score was now 220-60 in their favor.

“We’re ahead!” Padma screeched exuberantly, for once undignified. “Even if Potter catches the Snitch, we’ve still won it! Eagles for the Cup!”

“They’re not going to catch up,” Lisa agreed with a smug smile. “We’ve got them.”

Harry must have realized this, too, Hermione thought… because only thirteen-and-a-half tense minutes later, he captured the Golden Snitch.

The game was over. 220-210: victory to the eagles.

In Hermione’s memory, she could not recall a time when Ravenclaw had been the cause of so much universal celebration amongst the student body at Hogwarts. Even the other Houses cheered their win. Once both teams had landed, Harry goodnaturedly admitted defeat, shaking Shafiq’s hand in the center of the field.

“We woooonnnnn!” Padma was screaming. “We wooooonnnnn!”

Lisa was laughing and hugging Daphne, and even Hermione was cheering.

“Malfoy is Our King!” Daphne sang loudly. “ _He didn’t let the Quaffle in!_ ”

Laughter erupted around them at the nostalgic tune, and Hermione’s heart was bursting with happiness for Draco, to whom the team could safely pin a large part of their win on. She nearly wanted to cry with joy, remembering how little he had initially considered himself in their estimation, when every blue-robed player on his team clapped him on the back. Their Seeker - third year Evan Knight - even hugged him. The icing on the proverbial cake, however, was when Hermione saw Harry approach Draco on the field and shook his hand.

 _How far they’ve come_ , she marveled. She remembered two eleven year old boys who had drawn everyone’s attention prior to their Sorting, for the sake of a denied handshake.

Just when she was certain that every cranny of her being had been filled with a wonderful elation, and the Ravenclaw team had jumped back in their brooms to begin their victory lap around the pitch, a small figure darted out into the field below the stands.

“Who is that?” Lisa shouted over the noise from beside her, pointing.

Hermione squinted at the small, blonde figure, and thought she recognized her. _Lottie Gary?_

The second-year aimed her wand high above her head, and before anyone could stop her, she cast a hex that emitted a red-and-black light straight at the last player among the pack, completely decimating the broomstick from underneath him.

Heart coming to a standstill, Hermione scrambled for her wand, but her fingers felt heavy, clumsy… her brain was dull and stupid as she tried to find the words for a cushioning charm that could make it there in time... while Draco fell through the air like a knife through water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *immediately hides*
> 
> I_was_BOTWP was my beta. She's amazing, and fantastic, and possibly super-human.
> 
> Don't kill me.


	69. Recovery

****Draco was dead, and Hermione was in agony.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

How could this happen?

She floated over the broken body on the grassy expanse of the Quidditch pitch like a spectre at twilight. Though she was aware that her cheeks were stained with tears, she could not feel them rolling down her skin. Such things did not matter - not when Draco’s life had been snuffed out like a candle’s flame.

“Can no one help?” she cried plaintively. But even as she said it, she knew the words were futile. The broken heap before her hardly resembled her husband, and the seeping pool of blood surrounding him was ever-growing.

It was agony to breathe. It was agony to move. It was agony to exist.

“Miss Granger!” a far-away voice called. “Miss Granger!”

She steadfastly ignored it, reaching a hand out to turn Draco’s face. It must have skidded across the ground where he had fallen, however, because she inadvertently exposed a part of his eye socket which had become visible without its fleshy covering. A few molars, still right where they ought to be, gleamed up at her from the gore that had once been his face. He was utterly still; she felt even more light-headed than before.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

“ _Hermione_!”

How could she could care about whomever was attempting to get her attention, when Draco was dead, and her own body was wracked with such tremendous pain? Her surroundings grew blurry and her ears filled with static.

“Someone get her to the Hospital Wing, she’s passed out!”

.

.

Hermione’s eyes blearily opened to sterilized white walls. A flurry of commotion from the other side of the room had roused her. Vaguely aware of having somehow become entirely numb from the neck down, it was an effort to raise her head.

“You lie still there, Miss Granger,” barked Madam Pomfrey. Hermione’s attention swiveled unsteadily over to the matron, who was bustling over a cot opposite from her. “As far as I can tell, there is not much wrong with you, and I can’t have you distracting me at this moment, or I’m afraid we will lose Mr. Malfoy.”

_Draco_.

Her eyes welled with tears.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

_...I’m afraid we will lose Mr. Malfoy…_

Which implied there was something to lose.

_Not_ dead?

A searing pain spiked through her frontal lobe, and despite her best efforts, she could not remain conscious…

Her surroundings flashed strangely around her, and suddenly, she was ghost-like again, hovering over the broken body on the Quidditch pitch, looking on as Draco’s soul fought tooth-and-nail to remain earthbound.

.

.

“What will happen to Miss Gary, Minerva?”

“She will be expelled, of course,” came the no-nonsense voice of McGonagall. “She attempted murder of a fellow student in front of a stadium full of witnesses. She can’t be allowed to stay at Hogwarts.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open. Her entire body felt fuzzy, as if it had remained in one attitude for so long that the entire thing had fallen asleep and was in the process of regaining circulation. When she attempted to sit up, tiny needle-picks rippled across her skin. Gritting her teeth, she pushed through and managed to lift her head. The headmistress was speaking with Madam Pomfrey in semi-hushed tones, but as both witches were facing away from her, neither noticed Hermione listening in.

“Completely understandable,” the matron was agreeing. “Miss Gary will be seeing a mind healer, I hope?”

With some effort, Hermione managed to lift her weight onto her elbows and slide up further onto her pillow. Her entire body felt like a foreign object attached to her head. Doing her best to crane her numb neck to see around the women, her gaze landed on the edge of what she presumed was Draco’s cot, but all she could see was the same crisp, white sheets that clothed every other bed in the Hospital Wing.

“Certainly one hopes the law will see that the girl needs psychological evaluation, rather than merely punishment,” McGonagall was responding. “After all, she could easily have killed Draco Malfoy tonight.”

“Thank goodness Mr. Potter was paying attention,” Madam Pomfrey commended. “He saved the boy’s life!”

_Harry saved…?_

“He certainly did…”

_Not dead! Draco is not dead!_

A moment later, Hermione slumped down as she once again fell back into the place where dreams and memory molded together into shadows of reality...

.

.

Recumbency made Hermione irritable. She liked to be _doing things_ , not lying around - especially when she was not even injured. A day and a half in the Hospital Wing had given her little choice.

She did not remember much from the evening of the attack other than a very shallow recollection that she had had some sort of out-of-body experience wherein she imagined Draco had died. On the second day she had rallied somewhat, enough for a visit with Headmistress McGonagall. Minerva sensibly saw that the fastest way to heal Hermione was to give her answers.

And Hermione certainly had questions.

“Why isn’t he awake yet?” she wanted to know. Now that she had determined that he was, in fact, alive, she had moved on to the next basic concern; everything else could wait.

“Mr. Malfoy is to remain in a magically-induced coma for another day or so,” the professor explained. Her dark eyes flickered to the cot opposite Hermione’s, where Draco lay. The serene expression on his face might have made it look as if he were merely sleeping, but for the fact that the shape of his body beneath the sheets did not look quite right.

Hermione could only stare at the prone form of her husband. She had overheard Madam Pomfrey discussing his case with a healer who had come from St. Mungo’s as a consultation - though they had administered replenishing potions and sponged the blood from his hair, he still appeared paler than the healer would have liked. Vaguely, Hermione had to wonder if a Muggle blood transfusion would have worked better than potions.

She tried not to think about the crumpled body beneath the sheet. Would he ever fully recover from this?

As if sensing Hermione’s train of thought - and perhaps she had - McGonagall placed a wrinkled hand on her student’s shoulder. “Madam Pomfrey cannot heal him all at once. Just as the body can only handle so much trauma at one time, it can only take so much magical alteration at once… but he is stable. Once the blood-replenishing potions have gone through his system, he can have the Skele-Gro. Until then…”

Hermione thought back to the moment on the Quidditch pitch when she thought he had died; she had clearly seen his eye socket - but it had not been real. At least, if it had, there was no trace of such a ghastly injury now.

“It’s just… he’s so… _broken_ -looking.” She felt almost ashamed for how small and childish her voice sounded when she said it.

“He is,” Madam Pomfrey agreed, bustling over with a tray of food for Hermione. “But he will make it. It was a near thing, my dear. The internal bleeding has stopped, and his wounds have closed. Tomorrow will be very painful for him while I am resetting his bones, but the alternative is far more gruesome. His mother, as I am sure you know, has twice visited the Hospital Wing, and has been very adamant that we begin that process without delay.”

Yes, Hermione did know. She had fastidiously pretended to be asleep while her vociferous mother-in-law had abused Madam Pomfrey's capabilities - something the healer had borne both times with great patience. Swallowing the information along with the soup Pomfrey had pushed to her lips, she asked, “If nothing happened to me, why am I here? I can barely even move my arms.”

“That, I suspect, is a result of your alchemical binding,” McGonagall replied shrewdly. “Miss Greengrass, Miss Turpin, and Miss Patil brought you here after the incident.”

“You’ve sustained no injuries, other than a bump on the head when you fainted, as far as I can tell.” Madam Pomfrey lifted the spoon to Hermione’s mouth once more. “I had to give you a numbing potion to stop your writhing and screaming.”

“I was feeling Draco’s pain?” she demanded, her eyes shooting back to McGonagall for confirmation. The matron took the opportunity to shove more soup into her mouth, causing her to splutter.

“It is the best theory we can come up with,” the headmistress admitted. “Have you ever felt his pain before? Or he, yours?”

“H-He felt my cramps once,” she coughed around another spoonful of broth, “from my monthlies… and I’ve been having his arthritis pains.”

McGonagall seemed to be turning this over in her head.

“I’m not hungry,” Hermione snapped at Madam Pomfrey.

“You need to regain your strength,” the matron insisted. “When we re-set his bones tomorrow, none of us is sure how that will affect _you_ , but we can guess...”

The three women sat in relative silence for a few moments while Hermione was fed the soup. Her eyes were rooted, once again, to Draco; specifically, the rise and fall of his chest as he slept.

“You will perhaps also be interested to know,” Minerva interrupted Hermione’s train of thought, “that Lottie Gary has been expelled. Mr. Potter, luckily, keeps his wand in his Quidditch robes, and cast an _arresto momentum_ at the last moment as Mr. Malfoy fell.”

“That spell is the only thing that saved his life,” Pomfrey murmured, looking suddenly worn as she glanced over at the other occupied bed.

Hermione did not even want to think about the alternative… if Draco had actually…

_Stop that_ , her own brain chided, _he isn’t, and there’s no good in thinking about it._

“I want to talk to her.”

“That is out of the question,” McGonagall answered firmly.

“I need to know why she did it.”

“As to that, I have asked her myself,” the headmistress responded patiently. “It seems that last year, during the Carrows’ reign, she was tortured quite heavily, and often by Mr. Malfoy.”

Hermione burst out, “He was _forced_!” Madam Pomfrey shoved another spoonful of broth into her mouth.

“I am aware of that,” said McGonagall, “and while Miss Gary seemed to have also been aware of the circumstances, she could not handle seeing her former tormentor - forced or not - being lauded by his peers. You may be aware of some of the younger students taking out their frustration on some of the older ones?” Hermione nodded. “In Miss Gary’s mind, and I suspect many others, it was not right that these students ‘got away scot-free’. She couldn't stand to see Mr. Malfoy win your love, or be celebrated by so many, after what he had done to her.”

“That girl needs a mind healer,” Pomfrey clucked.

Dodging the next spoonful of soup, Hermione seethed, “They _all_ do. Everyone who went through that war does.”

“I agree.” Quietly, McGonagall reflected, “The Board of Governors talked me out of the idea, stating that it was not our place to force psychological therapy onto our students - but I shall look to have that post filled right away. Between Miss Parkinson, and now Miss Gary…” She swiftly looked toward Draco’s crumpled form on the bed. “The things we could have avoided…”

Hermione was denied answering by another helping of broth.

“In light of the fact that the both of you share physical pain,” the medi-witch put in, “I think it would be best if we sedated you while we put Mr. Malfoy’s bones back into place tomorrow.”

“No!” she cried. “I want to be with him. I want to help!”

“There is no need, Mrs. Malfoy,” McGonagall insisted, looking at her with a strange mixture of sadness and pride. “He will be completely sedated, himself. A healer from St. Mungo’s will be performing the procedure.”

“I really must insist,” the matron agreed. “There is no need to make yourself a martyr… and he has broken nearly every bone in his body. The healer will have to carefully set the more complicated structures, while the rest can be accomplished with Skele-Gro. Even so, the resetting will be painful without sedation.”

Turning the information she had over in her head, Hermione slowly nodded, “Alright. But no more sedation after that. I want to help him heal.”

“I have no doubt you will, my dear. No doubt at all…”

.

.

Three days later, Hermione burst into the Hospital Wing in a flurry, just as she had done during every break from classes that she got. Marching directly over to Draco’s bed, she pressed a swift kiss to his cheek before depositing a stack of parchment by his bedside.

“I’ve brought you all the notes from Arithmancy this morning,” she explained, “along with what Professor Flitwick told us to go over for our NEWTs…”

Draco’s eyes settled onto the pile of notes, but he said nothing. He still appeared pale, but at least he was whole; the resetting had been a day-long process, as he had broken a total of 109 bones. He had said very little since his reawakening.

She continued, “Professor Slughorn also hinted that there would be at least a few questions about brewing antidotes on the exams, but since I couldn’t find where you’d left _your_ notes, I took the liberty of making you some copies of _mine…_ ”

His gaze flickered upward to watch as about twenty more pages of outline made it onto the stack of paperwork.

“I supplemented the class material with some extra reading,” she explained, catching his look. “Just in case.”

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again. Carefully, he smoothed out the already-impeccably pressed sheets with his hands, then looked up at her. “What do you think happens to us when we die, Hermione?”

Uncomfortable, she shifted so that she was sitting on the edge of his bed. It still felt too far away however, so she scooted closer and took his hand. “No one knows for sure. Anyone we could ask, like Harry or a ghost, hasn’t _truly gone on_ after they died…”

“I just keep thinking about Parkinson, and how she’s dead, while I only just survived. How is it that fate decided which one of us it should have been?”

“She took her _own_ life, Draco… you had someone attempt to murder you! Those are _not_ the same thing.”

“I wish they hadn’t expelled that girl,” he muttered bitterly.

“She tried to _kill_ you!”

“Only because I _tortured_ her first...”

“Which you only did because you were _forced_!”

“I could have stood up for her though, couldn’t I? But like a bloody coward, I didn’t…”

“Draco, you can’t think that way,” she insisted, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. “You’re going to drive yourself mad if you follow that train of thought.”

He remained melancholy, just the same.

.

.

The next day, as Hermione made her usual trip to the Hospital Wing with notes for their upcoming NEWTs, she stopped short in her tracks when she found Draco sitting up in bed and laughing. In a chair beside his bed was…

“Harry?” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Both wizards looked up; both also wore identical expressions of amusement at her shocked reaction. Harry grinned at her, “I was congratulating Malfoy on the game. He essentially won it for Ravenclaw, after all.”

“Right, and our Chasers had nothing to do with it,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes - but despite this, Hermione could tell he was pleased by the praise from his former-rival.

She approached the cot and deposited some more notes onto the ever-growing stack by her husband’s infirmary bed. Something about seeing Harry and Draco together of their own choice did not compute in her brain. In amazement, she shook her head, absolutely certain that she would never understand men, despite being best friends with two of them and married to another.

“However,” Harry went on, with a critical look at Draco, “you _do_ know you’re supposed to stay _on_ your broom, Malfoy?”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped. “He couldn’t help it!”

But Draco’s face broke into a grin. “Ah, bugger off, Potter. What do you know about being the victim of an attempted murder?”

Harry laughed. “Nothing at all, as it happens.”

.

.

It was over a week from when he had nearly died before Draco was finally released from the Hospital Wing. The first day he was out and about and attending classes again, Hermione had a panic attack. She could not help worrying about him. On top of that, there was the stress of their swiftly approaching NEWTs, along with all of the extra work Morag and Aidan had them doing to prepare for the imminent Spring Fling. Meanwhile, the aching of her legs, neck, and ribs made it so that she was acutely aware of Draco’s constant state of pain, and that made her sad as well as sore.

_Breathe in… breathe out..._

She had hidden in an alcove off a little-used corridor to collect her wits following her meltdown. Wiping at her eyes and clearing her throat, she gazed into one of the windows to check that her reflection appeared at least mostly unruffled. After tucking a few errant curls back into place and straightening her blue-and-bronze tie, she felt ready to head down to the library at last. She had a free period, and had intended it for reviewing her Potions notes.

“Hello, Hermione. Are you waiting for something?”

Glumly, she turned and greeted, “Hi, Luna… and no, I was just about to head down to the library.”

“Oh, are you still working on your alchemy project?”

Hermione stared over at the dottiest of her friends. Luna’s pale, protuberant eyes looked back, waiting for an answer. “Not exactly.”

“Have you hit a dead end?”

Closing her eyes, Hermione thought back to the day the two of them had stumbled upon Ravenclaw’s hidden chamber. They had found the book on tantric sex and discovered Rowena’s bower that day… and yet, Luna had not brought the subject back up since then. It seemed an age ago, though it had really only been a handful of months.

She sank down onto the nearest windowsill. The grounds outside were bathed in a pale sunlight, and featured Hagrid’s hut. Hagrid himself, along with Fang, were outside it chopping firewood, but Hermione barely saw them. “You could say that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It’s too bad you couldn’t simply ask Ravenclaw, herself. I’m sure she would know the answer.”

“That _is_ too bad,” Hermione agreed.

“Will you be attending the upcoming dance with Draco?”

She nodded, “Yes - although Madam Pomfrey has put a strict ban on him doing any actual dancing. Will you be there?”

“Oh no,” Luna shook her head, “I’m afraid it was very poor timing. That Friday is a full moon, you see. It’s ideal for searching the grounds for wolpertingers. They prefer to bathe in moonlight, and it’s May, right at the start of their mating season, so I’m likely to find a few down by the Black Lake.”

Swallowing a disparaging comment, Hermione forced a smile onto her face, “Ah, right. How could I have forgotten?”

“I’m sure even if you won’t be dancing, you’ll still have a great time though.”

“Thanks, Luna. You too.”

“And be sure to save a dance for Theo.”

A frown etching deeply onto her face, Hermione queried, “What was that?”

“Theodore Nott - you know.”

“Did he… has he said that to you?”

Shaking her head and sending her dirty-blonde hair swishing about her shoulders, Luna answered, “No, he and I have never spoken. I’d like to though. I’ve never met a true Seer before.”

Dumbstruck, Hermione could only stare at her friend. _I’ve never met a true Seer before._

How had she known?

“Well, I’ll see you around, Hermione.” Without another word, Luna was off, leaving Hermione feeling somehow even more exposed than her panic attack had left her.

.

.

The Great Hall was nearly unrecognizable; the tables had vanished, and the benches were set along the sides of the walls. Both the floor and the walls had been rendered a navy blue, while twinkling fairy lights decorated the cavernous room. This, coupled with the candles still floating up high, gave the impression of walking into a starry night’s sky.

Hermione arrived on Draco’s arm some time after the dancing had already begun. Eager as she was for him not to overdo things and push himself to his limits - he was still recovering from his 80-foot fall off his broom - she had tried to convince him not to go at all.

“We’re meant to be there, as prefects,” he had reminded her earlier that afternoon, frowning.

“Right, I know,” she answered, fidgeting. “It’s just that I’m sure everyone would understand, considering…”

“Understand that I’m _injured_ ,” he had hissed. “Malfoys do not succumb to weakness; I’m recovered, the no-dancing rule is merely precautionary…”

She had sucked in a breath.

“Besides, I would not give up the opportunity to see you in a pretty dress - especially when it’s my arm you’ll be on.”

Nonetheless, they were late in arriving. Hermione had not wanted Draco to feel bad about not being able to lead her through the first dance, nor did she want him to act on ceremony and feel as though he had to anyway. She had pretended to lose her necklace to stall for time.

Though he had initially been irritable, he had softened when she emerged from their chambers in her dress. She and Ginny had picked out their choices from another of her made-to-order magazines - this one had luckily _not_ been a lingerie catalogue - and she had adjusted it to fit her measurements once it had arrived. A relatively simple affair, the dress was a halter-style on the top, mostly backless, and fitted down to her waist, where it flared out to culminate in a lacy hem. The whole thing was a silvery-white material, and in Hermione’s opinion, rather too beautiful a garment for her to be wearing.

“You are perfection,” Draco had told her once he had seen her in it. She glowed with the compliment. He was looking particularly dapper, himself, in a set of midnight-blue dress robes, perfectly tailored to his shape.

All the same, it took some time for them to make their way down to the Great Hall, slow as they were. Once they arrived, they found a seat by Daphne, who was sitting beside Millicent on one of the closer benches to the door.

“Malfoy…” Daphne greeted, then with a smirk added, “and Malfoy… fancy seeing you here.”

“Thought you weren’t going to show,” Millicent grumbled.

“I misplaced some of my jewelry,” Hermione explained, taking a seat beside her friend, while Draco settled on her other side.

“She was stalling,” Draco translated. “Because I’m not meant to dance.”

“Still recovering from that tumble, are you?” Millicent grunted.

Daphne elbowed her in the ribs, “He’s lucky to be _alive_ , Millie.”

“That I am,” he agreed.

Hermione looked at her knees where they peeked out from under the lacy hem of her dress and thought she could feel them creaking sympathetically as she sat.

“Hey,” came a new, familiar voice from their right.

All four of them turned. It was Theo.

“Greengrass, Bulstrode… where’s Davis?”

“She’s off dancing with Blaise,” Daphne supplied.

“Ah.”

“Nott,” Draco greeted coldly.

“Malfoy… how’ve you been?”

“Other than nearly being murdered, you mean?”

Hermione could feel the tension palpably escalating between the two wizards. To diffuse the situation - and because she was curious about her interaction with Luna earlier in the week - she butt in. “Would you care to dance, Theodore?”

Both Theo and Draco turned to her in surprise. The lean, bespeckled wizard seemed to size her up for a moment before adding with a measure of deference, “So long as Draco doesn’t mind.”

Though he appeared more than a little miffed, he waved his hand dismissively. “Go on, then.”

She offered him a half-hearted smile and extended her hand, which he took, looking somewhat apprehensive. Half-dragging Theo behind her as she led him to a nearby place to dance, she noticed that he was perfectly respectful with where he placed his hands for their dance; one was resting on top of her shoulder, nearly on her arm, while the other rested feather-light on the outside of her hip as if afraid of being electrically shocked by the contact. As the band sawed out a waltz and the candlelight winked from above, Theo hesitantly began to lead her through the steps of the dance. She looked into his face and realized that in another lifetime, in different circumstances, she could indeed have fallen for this wizard. But while Draco was alive, it simply was not an option.

Armed with this knowledge, she said, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He had the good graces to look guilty. “Not _just_ you.”

“Talk to me, Theodore. You’ve been doing enough hiding these past few months. What’s been going on?”

But he only shook his head. “I’ve just been worked up about Pansy. It… just doesn’t seem fair. I know you didn’t care for her much…”

“I can still feel the validity of how unfair it was that she met her fate that way.”

“Yes. Well. That’s all it is, really. I wish I could have done something to help her.”

“Oh, Theo,” she sighed. “You may have the Sight, but you can’t See everything… and even if you could, it isn’t your duty to fix it. Yes, it’s regrettable how Pansy met her end, but if there was something you could have done, I know you would have. You’re a good person.”

Though he was silent a moment, she felt him lean in a bit closer to her, his hand settling on her hip ever-so-slightly more comfortably. “I’m grateful that _you_ think I am, at least.”

“I am here anytime you need to talk, you know.”

He cast a glance back toward the three former-Slytherins, who had now been joined by Blaise and Tracey; Draco was trying to look as if he was not watching the two of them dance.

“I’m never going to be able to reconcile myself to the way Pansy went,” Nott murmured. “But if it had been Draco, too… he’s like a brother to me. That would have been…”

“Don’t say it, then,” Hermione stopped him. “He means everything to me, too. It’s enough that he’s alive.”

“It would have been devastating,” he agreed. “Not just for me - but for all us former-snakes.”

The duo descended into silence as they twirled through the next part of the waltz. Hermione was conscious of missing a few steps, but Theo appeared not to even notice. In any event, he was a good enough dancer that she was confident she did not appear a fool by being his partner. A minute of comfortable friendship later, she nudged him, pointing to where she had been sitting with Draco, Daphne, and Millicent. “Look.”

Theo turned to peer over at the area, only to find that Ron had approached Daphne and was asking her to dance. She appeared to protest at first, but with enough goading - and apparently some encouragement from Draco, of all people - she finally accepted his hand and allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor.

“I suspect that ship hasn’t quite sailed yet,” Theo murmured, looking amused as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Think they’ll ever work out?” Hermione queried, looking at him expectantly.

But her companion only shrugged. “I’m done trying to predict the future… not when it’s things that are so malleable.”

“Why, Theodore,” she gasped in faux-shock, “that sounds positively _responsible_ of you.”

He grinned, “Don’t get used to it.”

Once the dance was over, they rejoined the group that had formed around Draco. He seemed to be at ease and very much in his element as he was surrounded by his former housemates. All the same, he reached for Hermione’s hand like it was second nature and she allowed herself to be pulled onto his lap. While the possessive gesture might once have grated on her nerves, she felt only immensely pleased this time, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Theo hovered on the periphery of the group, as if unsure if he were welcome there or not. Finally, it took Blaise questioning, “Theo, are you going to join us or just stand there like some nancy?”

It took some doing, but eventually, everything seemed right again, and Theo was sitting on a bench with the group, joking right along with the rest of them. Soon enough, Daphne rejoined them. Things with Ron must have gone well during their dance, because she was in a merry mood. It was fascinating to Hermione to see so many of these Slytherins - who she would have once dubbed melancholy or aggressive, laughing and having a good time.

It lasted until Millicent spoke up, “The only thing that would make this more right is if Pansy, Greg, and Vincent were here.”

A fog descended on the group. Zabini stood first. “That’s my cue for a cigarette,” he announced. “Nott - join me?”

Theo acquiesced, and Tracey piped up, “I will, too. I haven’t had a fag in _ages_.”

Though the night was still young, Hermione could feel that Draco’s body was beginning to react to his being up and about for so long. He seemed to recognize it as well, because he turned to her and queried, “Ready to head in for the night?”

She nodded and disentangled herself from him so they could both stand. Smoothing out the front of her dress, she took his hand and they began bidding their friends a good-night. Ginny complained that they had not had a chance to really spend any time together, while Harry only chuckled at his girlfriend’s complaining. Ron seemed distracted, his eyes on Daphne.

Once they were safely out of view of the others and into the corridor outside, Draco landed a firm pinch on Hermione’s arse. She squealed in shock and spun around to face him.

“Draco, you’re hardly in any state to be making passes at me.”

“I plan on making passes at you for the rest of my life, witch.” Then, with a wink, he saucily added, “Besides… I was hoping that maybe you’d be on top. I’m pretty sure we could make it work that way.”

She raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously; they had not had sex since his accident.

With a mischievous grin, he added, “It seems the perfect way to end the night, if you ask me.”

Despite everything going on in Hermione’s life - the death of a classmate, NEWTs approaching, her husband’s near scrape with death, and everything else - she was ready for so many endings. For the first time, she was ready to be done with Hogwarts, and to step boldly out into the world with Draco by her side.

She smiled at him, and took his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go... it seems surreal, almost. That chapter will be posted on January 2. It's not quite the end of the month like I initially promised, but I don't want to rush the ending. Plus, I have a surprise for you all, which I can announce at that time. *vibrating with anticipation*
> 
> Thanks are not quite enough, but will have to do, to express how much it means to me that people have supported this fic. If you've been following since the beginning, or if you have only just found it - I treasure your words and kindness so much.
> 
> Appreciation does not even begin to cover the amount of gratitude I have for my beta, I_was_BOTWP. It is an excellent thing to have a good editor, but it is priceless to have someone who can tell you when you need to make huge changes - and be correct. She is amazing.


	70. Ever Onward

“At night they come without being fetched. By day, they are lost without being stolen.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Daphne cursed, spearing a dirty look at the eagle head door-knocker. “You couldn’t give us an easy one for our last time being here, could you?”

“Oh, don’t say that it’s the last time!” Lisa bemoaned. “It’s too sad!”

“But it _is_ the last time…”

“Yes, I know, but you don’t have to _say_ it…”

“Are you _crying_?”

“I c-can’t help it! I a-always get so _emotional_ at endings!”

“Look at what you’ve gone and done now, Daphne, you’ve made Lisa cry,” Padma said.

“I didn’t!” Daphne cried at the same time that Lisa insisted, “She didn’t!”

“The answer is ‘stars’,” Oliver told the door-knocker after a moment’s thought.

All of the eighth year Ravenclaws stood on the landing outside their tower, waiting as the guardian admitted them passage. Each clutched a book, or else had one tucked under their arm.

“Ready?” Padma prompted. She seemed to have become their unspoken leader after telling the seventh years to wait below until their group was done.

“Oh, I hope I’ve chosen the right book,” Sue fretted. Ernie shifted uncomfortably, like he empathized with her plight, but did not want to say it aloud.

Mercifully, NEWTs had come and gone; the Leaving Feast had been eaten and enjoyed the previous night. All those from eighth year, and those from seventh who had not opted to stay on another year, were preparing for their leaving ceremony in only an hour. Their trunks were packed and stacked in the Entrance Hall. There was only this small tradition left to complete before they would turn their backs on Ravenclaw Tower for the final time.

Padma led the way toward the Stacks, accompanied first by Sue and Oliver. The three veteran Ravenclaws had spent their entire Hogwarts career planning which book they might one day leave behind in the Stacks, and so had been ready with their picks for some months now. Lisa had confidently chosen her favorite Jane Austen novel, ignored Sue’s protests that there were probably at least seventeen copies of _Sense and Sensibility_ in there already, and thought nothing more of her choice. Ernie had deliberated which book to leave behind with anyone who would listen, for weeks now, and it seemed had finally made a decision. Daphne had gone back and forth between a few different texts, but had eventually opted to settle on a Charms text she had found helpful over her years at school.

Hermione did not recognize the book Draco had selected. When she questioned him about it, he held it aloft to show the title, _Magical Objects: Their Creation and Repair_. At her querying look, he informed her, “This book taught me everything I needed to know about mending that Vanishing cabinet in sixth year.”

“You kept it all this time? I’m surprised.”

“It seemed a shame to discard it simply because I have bad memories associated with it.” As he picked his way through the towers of books in physics-defying stacks, he added, “Perhaps someone can put it to a more worthy use than I did.”

With a soft smile, she nudged his shoulder and nodded to a veritable archway made of books that could only have been held up by magic. “There looks to be an appropriately sized space in the upper left curve of that arch.”

He contemplated the space, sizing it up, then decided, “Just so.” The book was levitated into place with little ceremony.

Hermione paused by a precariously leaning pile. The late morning sunlight was streaming through the high window onto it like a spotlight, as she contemplated the stack. Her gaze landed on a specific spot near the top, where it looked like someone might be able to fit a tome just the size of the one she had chosen.

Draco peered over at her title, then frowned, “ _Hogwarts, A History_?”

She nodded. “Yes. It’s my favorite book.”

He hesitated a moment, then protested, “There have got to be a hundred copies in here…”

“But none of them have got _my_ notes in the margins,” she countered, tapping the book’s spine with her finger. Seeing the thunderstruck look on his face, she explained, “I added in information about things the book hadn’t published. Both Ravenclaw’s and Hufflepuff’s secret chambers, for one… along with what I knew of the Chamber of Secrets, and the Sword of Gryffindor.”

“You mistake my surprise. I am shocked that you actually wrote in a book.”

Playfully, she shoved his arm, then placed the volume into the slot she had picked. It fit perfectly, and when she stepped out of the quietude of the Stacks and emerged back into the midnight blue common room on Draco’s arm, it felt just right.

.

.

The rarely-used chamber that sat off the Great Hall was not particularly spacious, but it was festively decorated in garlands of summer flowers hanging from the exposed rafters. There were a few tables laden with hors d’oeuvres and flagons of delicious things to drink.

It was a rare situation when Hogwarts decided not to make ceremony of things, but this was one such occasion: this small party amongst the leaving eighth- and seventh-years, and their professors was almost casual.

The headmistress had given a toast to the health and success of all those present, while each of the Heads of Houses had each said a few words, and voiced wishes for the future. Awards had been given, recognitions made, and goodbyes were said. Professor Sprout surprised everyone with the announcement that she was taking Neville on as her apprentice; Neville beamed, his ears flushing with her praise of his knowledge and capabilities. Meanwhile, a photographer from the _Daily_ _Prophet_ caught it all on camera.

Hermione had gone around the room, bidding goodbye to all her professors (Hagrid was hard to escape; she only managed it by slipping away as he blew his nose into a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth). The farewell she made to McGonagall was particularly emotional.

“I shall miss you greatly in my classes, Miss Granger,” the professor said fondly. After a second, she corrected herself, “Mrs. Malfoy.”

Hermione waved the correction away. “I’m going to miss your tutelage particularly, professor.”

“Oh, I have no doubt. Especially the parts where you ignore my instruction and do as your curiosity desires,” McGonagall teased with a twinkle in her dark eye. At Hermione’s spluttering, she added, “It is a fitting attribute for a person who is a mixture of both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, I think.”

Draco approached then to also pay his respects, “Headmistress…”

“Mind you take care of Hermione, now, Mr. Malfoy,” Minerva faux-scolded. “Or you’ll be hearing from me.”

It was said in jest, but Draco still sobered, promising, “To the best of my ability.”

“Off with you both, then.” The elder witch made a motion of dismissal with her hands, but Hermione could not help noticing that her eyes were shining suspiciously.

After bidding farewell to Professor Flitwick, they made to join Harry, Ginny, and Ron, when they were waylaid by the photographer and an accompanying journalist from the _Prophet._

“The Malfoys, I presume?” queried the small, pot-bellied man with the notepad. His beady eyes were scrutinizing them with interest. “Have a minute for a few questions?”

“No, thank you,” Hermione answered.

“Aw, come on, princess - it’s not every day that there’s a couple what gets married while still at Hogwarts… and especially not between the Golden Girl and a Death Eater.”

“She said no,” Draco snarled, immediately at her defense.

“But the public will have questions,” the reporter pushed irritably. There was a fake smile plastered to his face. “Take us only a mo…”

Harry, having noticed the commotion, stepped up behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder, “I believe they declined to comment.”

“And?” The pushy man turned and stopped in his tracks. “ _Oh_.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met. You aren’t working for Skeeter, are you?”

“No.” He puffed himself up a bit. “But I’m just doing my job.”

Joining the group, Ginny butted in, “Don’t you know who he is?”

The photographer had shrunk back into himself and seemed to have forgotten his camera, only watching the exchange from the periphery. Meanwhile, the reporter had turned a bright red, while his mustache quivered, perhaps with words he would like to have said. Finally, he answered, “…Harry Potter. Yeah, I know.”

“I love when people do that, it makes me feel like you’re famous or something,” Ginny wise-cracked. Then, looping her arms through Hermione’s and Draco’s each, she led them away. “Coming, Harry?”

They quickly left the _Prophet_ representatives behind, to re-join Ron, where the lot of them quickly set to bashing the audacity of the man. Their words quickly had even Draco chuckling - especially Ginny’s somewhat vicious renditions of what she hoped would befall the hapless individual. The reporter must have heard at least some of it, because he and his assistant cleared out rather quickly afterward.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat. “Now that they’re gone, Ginny and I have an announcement…”

After fumbling around her in her pocket for a moment, Ginny extended her hand as if she were visiting royalty, allowing her new jewelry to sparkle before them for a split second before squealing, “We’re engaged! We wanted to hide the ring from the reporters so we had time to tell people ourselves.”

Hermione gasped in excitement; Ron turned pale.

Harry grinned. “I asked yesterday - and she even agreed to move in with me.”

“We’ve got to get Grimmauld all spruced up,” Ginny determined, no-nonsense. “Next year’s going to be a big year…”

“Ginny!” Ron gaped. “Are you _pregnant_?”

“No, _Mum_ ,” she retorted, sticking out her tongue at him.

“Then what’s the rush!” he demanded, sounding indeed quite a bit like a fretting Molly Weasley.

“I’m just trying to marry my longtime celebrity crush before he changes his mind - _duh_.” She grinned, “We’re going to do it next summer.”

“The damnable smug expression you’re wearing, Hermione, is a _carbon copy_ of Malfoy’s,” Harry moaned, “and I’m absolutely certain it is going to haunt my nightmares the rest of my days.”

“I can’t help it!” she insisted, not looking sorry at all. “I’m really excited for you two.”

“And you know, she is my wife,” Draco added, looking immensely pleased with himself as his trademark smirk slipped onto his own features. “We were bound to pick up a few habits from one another.”

The group laughed - even Ron - and discussed what the future held. Harry supplied that he was all set to begin Auror training in a month, while Ginny’s plan was to try out for some of the professional Quidditch teams in Britain. Meanwhile Ron, who had originally planned to become an Auror alongside Harry, had decided instead to partner with George in the joke shop to get it open and running again.

“What about you two?” Ginny queried, leveling her gaze at Hermione and Draco.

With a glance at Draco, Hermione smiled and slipped her arm through the crook of his. “We’ve decided to travel for the next six months. We’ll be in Portugal in four days’ time.”

“From there, we head to Spain, and will begin making our way through Europe, and into the Middle East.”

“There goes your theory about them throwing a fancy wedding, Gin,” Ron teased.

“It sounds heavenly,” Ginny sighed. “Don’t forget to write, will you?”

.

.

For those who would not be returning to Hogwarts, they were given two options on how they would like to leave it. Some - especially those who had younger siblings to tend to - chose to take the carriages down to the Hogwarts Express, which would convey them back to King’s Cross station like it always had. For the remaining majority, they opted to take the boats back across the Black Lake to leave - in direct juxtaposition to how they had arrived as eleven year olds.

Not to Hermione’s surprise, Harry decided to take the train; though Ginny rolled her eyes, she indulged his nostalgia by agreeing to go with him. Though she had expected Ron to join them, Hermione was surprised when he insisted that he meant to take the boats. These were set to leave later in the day, as the train was a far longer journey - students who stepped out of the boats in Hogsmeade were prepared all to simply Apparate home, or else utilize the Floo network from the Three Broomsticks.

Once they had gathered down by the edge of the lake, however, she found out Ron’s real intention when he hopped into a boat after Daphne. While Millicent and Tracey both looked intrigued and a little bemused at his sudden presence, as they also shared the boat - Daphne seemed mostly pleased.

_Something must have happened at the dance_ , Hermione decided, smiling as she watched Ron entreat Daphne to go on a real date with him that coming weekend. She agreed with very little convincing, which only confirmed Hermione’s suspicions.

When it was their turn, Draco climbed into the boat before her and held out a hand to help her in. Hermione sat and closed her eyes a moment to savor the gentle sloshing of the water lapping at the sides of the vessel. When she opened them again, her face traveled from the rippling surface of the water, up to the shore where she recognized a significant weeping willow - the very same which she and Draco had performed their initial mandala beside.

She turned to observe upon this to him, but he was already grinning at her as he followed her line of vision.

With a smile, she looked down again and smoothed her hand over the rough wood of the oar by her side. She would not need to use it, as it was propelled by magic, but there _was_ a certain something nostalgic about the feel of it on her skin.

“Mind if I join you?”

She looked up. It was Theo. He was shuffling awkwardly on the shoreline, running a hand through his hair obsessively.

“Ridiculous question,” Draco scoffed. “Of course you can.”

“Thanks.” The tall, lean wizard climbed into the boat after them and sat opposite Draco.

“I thought you had planned to take the train?” Hermione queried. “Something about boating being a waste of time, if I recall?”

“Yeah, well, I realized it would be bullshit to take the train all the way back, only to have no one meet me at King’s bloody Cross, didn’t I? Nah, I’ll just Apparate home from Hogsmeade with the rest of you all.”

Awkwardly, Hermione shifted, unsure what to say. She knew her parents would have met her at the station if she had asked, but Theo had no one.

“Hey, I know,” he brightened, glancing from Draco to Hermione. “You can ask me for your future, I’ll tell you three things, and one of them will be true.”

“I’m never asking you a bloody thing ever again, you twat,” Draco protested. “I nearly died and you never breathed a word!”

“Look…” Theo started, “I already knew you were going to live… and you _yelled_ at me about meddling before, so…”

“What I want to know,” Hermione cut in, sensing an argument brewing, “is if Draco and I ever unbind ourselves.”

Nott frowned. “Well that’s not a game at all.”

“You don’t have to tell me how,” she insisted, “I just want to know _if_.”

Theo exhaled heavily and answered, “Yes - and for whatever reason, you’re going to be a little sad about it, Hermione, because Draco won’t need his glasses any more.”

She grinned, shooting a suggestive look at her husband. “Maybe I can convince him to keep the frames.”

Before either of them could answer in kind, and just as their boat was about to bump off from the shore, a fourth person jumped in - Luna.

Without preamble, she turned to Theo, looked him directly in the eyes, and queried, “Are you finished predicting everyone’s future yet?”

Flabbergasted, Theo only stumbled over a few gibberish words. “Er, wah, _well_ , I, er…”

She did not seem to mind. “Well, are you going to tell me mine?”

Blinking slowly - though whether at Luna’s sudden insertion into their boat and conversation, or at her bluntness, it was hard to tell - Theo’s expression slowly morphed into one of utter dumbfoundment. “I… _can’t_ See yours.”

This did not seem to bother her either. As their boat left the shoreline to join the small fleet of others in their final journey from Hogwarts, Luna explained matter-of-factly, “Well, I’m going to go on to write several books about Rowena Ravenclaw, of course. I’ll become the leading scholar of my time.”

Draco snorted.

Luna ignored the outburst. “And you, Theo Nott, will make a pilgrimage to the fabled Hall of the Soothsayer… They say the fumes from the incense there can allow a true Seer to find a purpose. Those who chose to remain beyond their pilgrimage are expected to live there almost like monks, but you’ll be allowed to stay as long as you like, with acceptance, and then leave when you’re ready.”

Nott’s mouth was physically hanging open. Hermione stifled a laugh as she watched the two interact for the first time. _Well, Luna did say she always wanted to meet him..._

“I know you don’t like the future you See for yourself - and it _is_ a bit bleak - but there is a very real sense of hope that the other Seers can guide you in correct decision-making and on how to act going forward. They can help you harness your powers, recognize issues with altering the things you See…”

“How did I not See _you_ coming?”

Hermione looked at Draco, the two of them silently agreeing to try giving their companions a modicum of privacy. Simultaneously, they turned their backs on them to face the shore.

As the silhouette of Hogwarts, bathed in afternoon sunlight, slowly diminished behind them, Hermione murmured, “Ginny got me thinking back there, at the ceremony.”

“Of?” Draco wondered quietly.

“Well, she mentioned that she thought we had been trying to plan a big ceremony… It made me wonder: did you want to do something formal?”

“We could have a big ceremony if you wish,” he agreed placidly. “But it will never be the most important day to me.”

She smiled, her gaze on the water, and where ripples gently trailed through the water behind their vessel.

“The most important day,” he went on, “will always be the 31st of December, last year. You might have been panicked, and I might have been anxious of what the future meant for us… but I will always think fondly of that day.”

She smiled and took his hand to squeeze it. “I feel the same.”

Hermione glanced over at the other two occupants of their boat; Luna was now giving Theo all sorts of details about how he could hone his abilities at the Hall of the Soothsayer… while he continued to gape at her like a kelpie out of water.

A commotion from some of the other boats ahead of them took Hermione’s attention. Looking up at the line of trees that marked the edge of the forbidden forest, she gasped. “Draco, look!”

By the water’s edge stood a solitary unicorn, its silver-white flanks shining like starlight made earthbound, even in the daytime. Standing very still, it seemed to be watching them pass.

“Well, what do you know?” he murmured. A smirk slid across his lips. “Nice of it to see us off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I'm an emotional mess. It took 2 years, 8 months, and 17 days, but it's finally... really... done. You may be wondering why I chose not to resolve some things - but it's because in real life, problems don't all go away at the same time, wrapped in a neat little bow. In my head, Daphne does eventually conquer her particular demon on her own, but not at this time. The same for Hermione and her panic attacks… for George and his demons, etc. Some people never do (like Pansy), and they succumb to the darkness. That is life.
> 
> How can I ever express enough gratitude to my beta? I_was_BOTWP has been there for this whole journey: the incessant scenarios I put before her, the ridiculous questions I asked... ah, the invaluable input of an indulgent friend with a brilliant mind. Thank you, again and again.
> 
> And thank YOU so, so much for reading my tale. For the silent readers, those who ever kudo'd or followed... but especially to those who commented. Reading your thoughts and reactions, and all the love and support I've been given over the years... it's treasured so greatly, and was truly invaluable to the storyline.
> 
> If you're looking for more of my fanfics, please check out my other works, both here and on FFN. I have two other WIPS at the moment, which you can follow if you're interested: This, Too, Is Sacred & Set In Stone.
> 
> Thank you for sharing this journey with me.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Edie


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